


The Best Laid Plans

by FaithWinchester



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Dawn Winchester, F/M, Gen, Memory Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-24 07:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaithWinchester/pseuds/FaithWinchester
Summary: The spell was simple, but powerful and once cast, countless lives would be altered. Two people, Dawn and Connor, stripped from existence and given new places in the fabric of reality.Connor was bound for the all American suburban life Angel had been promised for him. A bouncing, blue-eyed baby boy was born to Laurence and Colleen Reilly of Los Angeles on November 15th, 1981, their first child. He would grow up in their home in a nice neighborhood, with a pigtailed little sister, an insurance salesman for a father and a stay at home mom who made the best peanut butter cookies in the entire PTA.Dawn, however, was destined for something very different.
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted by Onechairleft and myself on Twisting the Hellmouth, waaaay back in May of 2011. We traded off writing chapters and then both got wrapped up in life and lost track. Going to be picking up the story and moving forward, so I'm moving the chapters over from TtH.
> 
> We don't own Supernatural or Buffy (and that makes me sad), they belong to Whedon and Kripke, respectively.
> 
> This fic begins at the end of Season 7 for Buffy, during Angel's visit to Sunnydale and completely Alternate Universe for Supernatural. Relationships will be added as they are revealed in the fic, rating to possibly change later, depending on what ends up on the page...
> 
> ~*~

_Sunnydale, California_  
  
“So, no one will remember them?” Buffy asked, her voice unsteady.  
  
Angel nodded, soberly.  
  
“That’s the deal. New life, new memories, new family.”  
  
“Damn, I hate this,” Buffy sighed, but then she looked at him. “I know this is what’s best for Dawn. She needs safe and normal and white picket fences, not demons and monsters and sunset curfews. I’m going to miss her though.”  
  
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” Angel agreed and the two of them fell silent, sitting side by side in the cemetery, a hundred concrete angels watching over them.  
  
_The spell was simple, but powerful and once cast, countless lives would be altered. Two people, Dawn and Connor, stripped from existence and given new places in the fabric of reality. _  
  
_Connor was bound for the all American suburban life Angel had been promised for him. A bouncing, blue-eyed baby boy was born to Laurence and Colleen Reilly of Los Angeles on November 15th, 1981, their first child. He would grow up in their home in a nice neighborhood, with a pigtailed little sister, an insurance salesman for a father and a stay at home mom who made the best peanut butter cookies in the entire PTA._  
  
_Dawn, however, was destined for something very different. Instead of the son they would have had, John and Mary Winchester welcomed fraternal twins, a boy and girl on May 2nd, 1983. Their oldest son, Dean, was four. On the day that Dawn and Sam turned six months old, November 2nd, a fire in their nursery, caused by a demon, took the life of their mother, Mary. From there, the lives of the Winchester children became a series of motel rooms in random towns across the United States as their father chased down every evil thing he could find, searching for the thing that had taken their mother from them. Saving people, hunting things, it was the Winchester family business. Despite all that, Dawn’s new life had one prime directive: to keep the powers of the Key, still locked inside her, safe. Her new family, they were warriors and she was their treasure. They’d protect her with their lives, but the fact was that Dawn was never going to have safe, normal or white picket fences._  
  
_The people who had known them in their previous lives forgot them, their memories reformed to the absence of Dawn Summers and Connor Angel. The only people unaffected by the spell were the Chosen Slayers, Buffy and Faith and the vampire, Angel. They made no attempt to find the two, as agreed, simply went on with their lives and hoped that the Destroyer and the Key were living new, safe, happy lives. That was the plan, but there’s a saying about plans, especially the best laid ones._  
  
~*~


	2. Blond Bombshells and Big Brothers

“This place gives me the creeps,” Dean said as they walked across the manicured grass. Dawn snorted, inelegantly.

“Right. We’ve been in pretty much every haunted house on the freaking continent and the campus at Stanford University creeps you out. You’re a freak, you know that?”

“Must be genetic then,” Dean quipped and Dawn rolled her eyes at her big brother.

“Let’s go find the third freak then and complete the set,” she said.

Dawn knew the way to her twin’s apartment, right across the street from the dorms. She’d been to Sam’s place a few times, most of them unknown to Dean and their dad. She’d even met Jess, the beautiful blond bombshell that Sam was head over heels for. She hadn’t mentioned her to Dean, though, much as she hated keeping secrets from her oldest brother. Still, she’d promised Sam and he was her twin.

They found Sam packing his duffel and when the two of them walked in without knocking, he looked up, rolled his eyes and didn’t bother saying a word. Dawn flopped down on his bed and crossed her legs at the ankles as if she owned the place and Dean was already in the fridge searching for a beer.

“Almost ready, Sammy?” Dawn asked, lacing her fingers behind her head.

“Just about,” he said, zipping the bag shut. “Gotta wait a few more minutes for-“

“Sam,” Dean called from the other room and they both looked at him through the doorway. He was staring at the entryway with a surprised expression. “An extremely hot blond just walked into your apartment.”

“That would be because she lives here,” Sam told him and Dawn grinned, sitting up and bouncing off the bed as Jess came into the room.

“I guess this means you’re getting ready to go?” Jess said, walking up to Sam and putting her arms around his neck.

“It does,” he said, kissing her.

“Sammy,” came Dean’s annoyed voice and Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “Explain,” Dean demanded and Dawn couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up.

“Dean, this is Jess, my girlfriend,” Sam said. “Jess, you know Dawn already and this is my brother, Dean.”

“What the hell is a girl as hot as this doing with you, Sammy? And knows Dawn already? What do you mean, knows Dawn already?” Dean demanded, giving Dawn a hard look. She shrugged and gave Jess a quick hug.

“Ignore him, I find it helps keep me from strangling him. Good to see you again Jess. Sorry we’re stealing your guy away, but I promise we’ll bring him back in mostly one piece,” she said and Jess smiled at her.

“Just make sure all the important parts are intact when he gets home,” she instructed and Dawn laughed.

“Right,” she agreed, grabbing Dean’s jacket sleeve and tugging him toward the door. “We’ll just let you two say your goodbyes and wait in the car. Hurry up, Sam, before Dean figures out where the Sorority Houses are.”

The Winchester summer road trip was a tradition, started two years earlier before Sam left for Stanford. Dawn insisted that the three of them spend the summer together, every year, no matter what else they were doing. With their father’s anger over Sam’s leaving and Dean’s mixed feelings over loyalty to his brother and his need to make John proud, Dawn and her stubborn insistence was, at times, the only thing that held their family together. Picking up Sam at Stanford was the beginning of the trip and Dawn was pretty sure Dean had several hunts in mind to get the summer started. Dean swore the only reason he took these summer trips was to make sure Sam was staying in shape and staying sharp during his “academic vacation from hunting”. Dawn let him keep his fantasies, but she knew damn well he missed Sam as much as she did when they weren’t all together.

Dawn could have gone to college, if she’d wanted to. When it came to intelligence, she was right up there with her twin, scary smart, but Dawn preferred to use her skills more actively. She loved diving into the lore, on the computer or buried in musty old books. She memorized everything she could and wrote the rest down, creating a computer database of all the monsters and creepy crawlies that they’d faced over the years. Recently, she’d given a copy of it to Ash, at the Roadhouse, so he could post it on one of the hunter websites. By all accounts, it’d made a lot of hunters’ lives a little bit easier.

They were walking back to the Impala and Dean was muttering to himself, something about “a hot girl like that doing with a geek like Sam”.

“Seriously, why the hell didn’t anyone tell me about Blondie back there? Sammy, with a girlfriend?” Dean groused.

Dawn just shook her head and walked a little faster. The man that stepped around the corner of a building and almost collided with her startled her and she was reaching for the knife concealed at her back before she realized it.

Dean’s hand was on her wrist, stopping her from revealing the blade and Dawn looked into wide blue eyes that seemed to hold recognition.

“Sorry about that,” said the man who’d stepped in front of her.

“No problem,” she heard Dean answer for her. “She wasn’t looking where she was going.”

“Right, I mean, sorry,” Dawn said, finally, blinking away the odd sense that he’d seemed to know her. She moved her hand away from her weapon and pulled her arm out of Dean’s grasp as they walked away, continuing across the campus toward the parking area.

“Slick, baby girl,” Dean said, beside her. “You almost knifed Joe College.”

“Bite me,” she grumbled, trying to shake off the strange feeling she’d had when she looked into that boy’s eyes.

They waited for Sam in the car and he tossed his duffel in the backseat, then leaned into the passenger door.

“Backseat, Shorty,” he said to the 5’8” Dawn, who just gave him a look. With a huge sigh, Sam rolled his eyes and told her, “Move over then.”

Dawn scooted over closer to Dean, who grumbled about not having “elbow room” and Sam slid into the passenger seat. Twenty minutes and a lot of cursing at other cars had them pulling onto the freeway, headed north on Interstate 5. Ten miles of being squished between her brothers was plenty for Dawn. She’d made her point and she crawled over the seat and stretched out in the back of the car, using Sam’s duffel for a pillow. It was a long drive to Oregon.

~*~

Connor Reilly stared after the girl, shock and disbelief making it hard for him to think straight.

Long dark hair, huge blue eyes, delicate, beautiful features. He’d remember that face anywhere. She was the other one. The other kid who’d been given a fresh start. Dawn Summers.

He’d seen her photo, in his other life, the one where he was the Destroyer, son of two vampires and pretty much a badass demon slayer. That life, it was like a shadow overlaying the one where he was Connor Reilly, mild mannered college student with an apple pie life back in L.A. Ever since he’d met Angel, his biological father, the vampire one, and learned about that other life and the spell that had wiped the slate clean for him, strange memories had haunted him at odd times. This girl, Dawn, she was one of them.

He’d been a teenager then, fighting with Angel and his friends, supposedly trying to stop the Apocalypse… again. There was a Vampire Slayer, Faith, who was called in to help with a little matter of a missing soul. She’d been the first Slayer he met and he’d been impressed. She was the first person he’d ever faced off with that managed to wipe the floor with him. She’d talked about Sunnydale, about Buffy Summers and her little sister Dawn. She hadn’t exactly been big with the affection when she talked about them, but what she said made him curious. Later, when he asked, Cordelia had shown him photos. Dawn had always seemed a little awkward, a little out of place, even when she was smiling with the others and she’d struck a chord in him. He knew that feeling.

Now he watched as that same girl walked across the grass and got into a black Chevy Impala with a guy in a beat up leather jacket. A few minutes later, he saw another man, one he knew this time, Sam Winchester, jogging across the grass and joining them in the car before it pulled away.

Curious, Connor pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and thumbed through his contact list. There it was, Sam Winchester. He’d give them some time to get to wherever they were headed, then he might give his old study partner a call and find out how he was spending his summer.


	3. Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby Singer has firm opinions about the Watcher's Council

Faith turned up the radio to drown out the sound of the engine whining; the truck shaking around her as if she were pushing it too hard- she was doing fifty miles an hour, if that. The truck was just a piece of shit. She promised herself that this would be her last ever truck and that she’d stop somewhere and trade it in for something shiny and pretty.   
  
Of course, she’d been telling herself that for almost a year, afraid to admit aloud that she had actually grown attached to the blue metal clunker- it was sturdy, reliable (most of the time) and when she ran stuff over with it, it didn’t just break down and die like her first car had. Her first purchase when the Council money came through, four years previously, had been a shiny red convertible- it was fast, it was clean and it was new and the first time she used it to run over a demon, it had given up on her. She’d been buying clunkers ever since and the current one was her favourite.   
  
She called it baby when no-one was there to see, and that was a secret she intended to take to her grave.   
  
She pulled her crumpled road map from under the passenger seat- how had it even got down there?- and eyed her route again, outlined in pink highlighter. She’d filled the map with shorthand- scribbles of demons she had slain, decent motels and diners with pie worth remembering. Three years of her life, literally mapped across North America. Xander had handed her the map when she’d left Cleveland (Robin) behind her, telling her that she should always know where she was so she knew how to get back.   
  
What a girl. She’d stuck it out with the new council for a year- twelve months and change, and damn if that wasn’t the longest she’d lived anywhere, ever, apart from prison. She’d stayed for the Scoobies (for Robin) until she realized that, even if she’d wanted it, they were never going to be family. They were colleagues; friends, maybe, but they weren’t her family. (Robin had been)   
  
She was better off on her own, anyway; weaving her way across the continent, kicking ass and taking names. She was better at the kicking ass bit than the taking names bit- she rarely knew the names for what she killed, and she rarely got the names of the men she fooled around with. The demons were Giles’ problem and the men… well, they were her problem, but those were demons she didn’t feel like fighting. She’d been fighting them long enough.   
  
She drove on, promising the truck new tires if it stayed on the road until she got to Sioux Falls.   
  
Why did she always get the shit-hole assignments, anyway? Seriously; this was not kosher. Giles must hate her- it was the only reasonable explanation. Faith took one last drag of her cigarette and threw it to the ground, crushing the butt with unnecessary force- the boonies did not agree with her and when she’d volunteered to travel the country and do the meet-and-greets, she hadn’t expected bumfuck, nowhere as part of her travel route.  
  
She’d been thinking of dancing the night away in New York and gambling in Vegas.   
  
Not searching for some might-have-been Watcher in South Dakota- a man who, if his yard was anything to go by, did not understand the meaning of throwing stuff away. There were stacks of junked cars covering the entire yard and the small house looked like it had seen better decades. Giles promised her that Robert Singer was an old-school demonology expert but Faith couldn’t see it- she’d expected libraries, tea and tweed and what she was seeing was trashed cars, tires and… was that a tractor? She barely restrained a snort and took the last few steps to the house, knocking on the door loudly and forcing the disdain off her face. She’d seen worse- hell, she’d lived in worse. Was she so spoiled by the Council credit card that she couldn’t rough it for a day? There was a Rottie on the porch, glaring at her and growling, and she forced herself ignore it, hoping that it wouldn’t bite- because, seriously, even Faith knew that beating on the man’s dog was not going to make a good first impression.  
  
The gruff, bearded shotgun-toting man who answered the door was about what she’d expected from the junkyard outside- but he was about as far from Watcher as she’d ever seen.   
  
“You Robert Singer?” He scowled and very definitely pointed the gun in her face. Quick as she was, she couldn’t be certain she could disarm him before getting an ass full of buckshot for her trouble.   
  
Jesus, she hated rednecks.   
  
“Who’s asking?” He sounded pissed; maybe she’d interrupted something?  
  
“I’m Faith. The Council sent me.” She saw the second he realized what that meant and the scowl deepened.   
  
And then he shot her, both barrels, point blank range; she was knocked backward and fell down the steps, flat onto her back, winded and embarrassed, but not hurt.   
  
“Get the hell off my property and if I see you or any of yours sneaking around here again, I’ll shoot you with more than rock salt.”   
  
That went well.   
  
She made a tactical retreat- walking back to the roadway and calling Giles to bitch at him for sending her to talk to a psycho hillbilly.   
  
The Watcher didn’t answer his goddamn phone and Faith was convinced that Giles hated her. He must be ignoring her on purpose- there was no other reason not to answer. She ignored the voice that told her it was the middle of the night in England. That was no excuse.   
  
It would have been fine; she could have moved on happily with her life and declared the mission an utter failure with no guilt and no repercussions- Mr. Singer had been a long-shot anyway; a no-hope recluse who might have helped them out but who proved to batshit insane instead- no loss.   
  
But then her truck wouldn’t start and Faith could almost hear the universe laughing its ass off at her. She’d pulled into his driveway but hadn’t driven up to the house- so now she was not only broken down, she was broken down and blocking his goddamn driveway.  
  


  
Bobby Singer was not, nor had he ever been, a particularly patient man. He was a lot of other things- smart, strong, deceptively dangerous, but not patient. He’d tried, once, to work with the Watcher’s council, thinking that maybe having them on side would help the Hunter network out.   
  
But the Watchers were patient men; trained to wade through mountains of paper and wait for decades for moon alignments and prophecy. Bobby preferred the ‘hit it until it’s dead’ approach to researching evil, sometimes. Oh, he was glad to know how to kill something, sure. But he wasn’t fond of waiting for a planetary alignment for the monster of the week to be ready to be killed. That kind of patience didn’t agree with him- so they’d parted ways, rather amicably, really.   
  
He hadn’t had a good thought about the entire organization since that- the so-called New Council were no better, either, in his opinion. Sending one little girl out to face the darkness was one thing; a necessary evil. But sending dozens of them out there? That was un-fucking-forgivable. At least the Old Council had grown men on staff; armed to the teeth Hunters who knew what they were giving up and why, men who’d seen war and death a hundred times before marrying themselves to the war against evil. He’d fought a dozen times with Hunters raising their kids into a war- he could say no different about the New Council.   
  
It all made it him intolerant, really, of their attitude. Very, very intolerant. He might have regretted shooting the girl if he wasn’t sure she was a Slayer. He didn’t need wards or magic to tell him that the girl was a predator and stronger than she had any right to be- no-one took rounds to the chest like that, even salt rounds, and just stood up again. At the very least, she should have been bruised and out of breath and she hadn’t been.   
  
“Girl if you don’t get off my porch I swear to God I will shoot you proper.” He could see her through the door, pacing the porch-way like a caged cat. She sighed, loud enough that he heard her.   
  
“My truck won’t start.” She sounded both miserable and angry and Bobby almost laughed.   
  
“Well? What you gonna do about it?” He pulled open the door and glared at her again. She didn’t seem to like it when he glared- that’s why he did it. He had to get his fun somewhere, right?  
  
“You know a tow company around here?” He almost grinned, indicating over her shoulder to his tow truck. Anyone who had car trouble in Sioux Falls called him.   
  
“Today is just not my day, is it?” She didn’t look miserable; she didn’t even look necessarily inconvenienced, but Bobby Singer had been around the block enough times to know when someone was close to boiling point.   
  
“I’ll take a look at it.” He offered, waiting for her agreement before setting off across the yard at a pace that the girl matched effortlessly. She didn’t try to thank him; didn’t even look at him as he lifted the hood and had her try start it up. “You need a new starter.” He peered into the engine, squinting in the fading light. “And a new timing belt. But a new starter will get you out of here and back on the road.” For a few miles, anyway. The belt really should be changed ASAP.  
  
“How much?” He scowled, annoyed.   
  
“You think I’m gonna charge you for breaking down in my yard?” True, he might’ve, but she was a Slayer and he wanted nothing of the Council’s money. She just blinked at him, unsure, and Bobby’s scowl deepened. “Git in the house girl and sit your ass down.” He walked her inside, showed her to the sofa in his living room- if it could be called that, with every available surface covered in books- and promptly left, muttering and grumbling under his breath with every step. Jim would laugh his ass off when he heard about this- big, bad Bobby Singer letting a Slayer loose in his house ‘cos the girl looked innocent.   
  
Another reason that Bobby was glad to be rid of the council- those girls… they damn near broke his heart.  
  


  
She sat there, quiet and stunned, for about ten minutes. She was kinda surprised she’d lasted that long, really. She watched him through the window for a minute or two, working under the hood of her truck, before the light faded so she could barely see him. How he could see what he was doing, Faith didn’t know.   
  
She wouldn’t normally poke through someone else’s stuff. Normally, she just didn’t care enough- not unless there was something dangerous there that she needed, or better: something dangerous. But this guy… his stuff was awesome. Badass in a way that Giles had never managed. He had an armoury in his living room, blades and guns side by side with original texts in languages that Faith couldn’t even name and a wall of telephones with some very suspicious labels.   
  
She couldn’t stop grinning- inside his house, surrounded by the stuff that this guy collected, she was beginning to see why the Watchers had him on payroll back in the day. ‘Course, the relationship seemed to have soured pretty bad, but she had to give him props- he had a wicked collection for an old guy.   
  
She was thumbing the edge of a Russian silver dagger- wickedly sharp, about the length of her palm with a thick sturdy blade- when he came back inside, carrying his ball cap in his hand.  
  
“Put that down before you hurt yourself.” She bristled, annoyed, but didn’t rise to the bait. She dropped the kindjal back onto the desk and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.   
  
“You done with the truck?” He’d been gone less than an hour, all told.   
  
“If you mean have I replaced your burnt out starter then yeah, I’m done. But you gotta get that belt replaced or she’ll dump you on your ass before you get outta the state.”   
  
“Know anyone local who’ll do that for me?” He didn’t meet her eyes.   
  
“No.” Damn. She’d been hoping to get him to offer. ‘Course, he wasn’t a fool- he must know that.   
  
“Okay. Thank you, for the starter, and if you change your mind about the Council…” Her voice trailed off but she gestured to the mantle above the fireplace where she’d left her card.   
  
“You’re welcome.” There was an unspoken now please leave at the end of that sentence.   
  
“You have a great collection.” She said this with a smile, running her fingers across the silver dagger again, relishing the cold metal under her fingers. She hadn’t carried a dagger in years- not since… well, not since Wesley. Not since prison.   
  
“This ain’t a collection. They’re tools; they do a job.”   
  
“You have a great set of tools, then.” She could practically hear her own eyes roll. He didn’t answer, just glared at her with suspicious eyes. Jeez, couldn’t a girl get a break? She was trying to give the man a damned compliment. “I’ll, uh, be going I guess.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
He walked her back to her truck- a gentleman beneath the rough exterior, or was he just that eager to see her go? She couldn’t tell. She was back in the truck, happy to hear the engine turn over, before he spoke again.   
  
“You been in this game long, girl?” Jesus, she hadn’t even introduced herself.   
  
“Long enough.”  
  
“You one of the Chosen, then?” She could hear the title in his voice; hear the respect he had for it and a tiny part of her relaxed for the first time since she’d stepped onto his land.   
  
“Last of the Chosen, if you want to get technical.” The newbies had given her the title and she had always pretended not to hear the sneer in their voices when they used it.   
  
“That makes you… Hope? Patience?” Was he kidding, or just fucking teasing her?  
  
“Faith.” She was pretty sure he knew that, too, the smug bastard.   
  
“You tell your Council, Faith, that I’ll be sticking to what I know as long as they’re still sending little girls into the dark.” He pushed his cap back onto his head firmly and turned to walk away from her.   
  
“You know they’re not alone anymore, right? There are hundreds of us now- the Slayer doesn’t fight alone anymore.” One last ditch effort to convince him to talk to her couldn’t hurt. He glanced back at her and she saw the sadness in his eyes for the first time.  
  
“I reckon that’s where me ‘n the Council differ, then. Your lot think that makes it better and I think it makes it worse.”   
  
He was gone before she could reply, leaving her alone in the dark with only her thoughts and the rumbling engine for company. Most days, the engine made more sense.


	4. Porn Stars and Pigtails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protective older brothers and little sisters who have a mind of their own...

“Dammit, Dawn, how much do you weigh?” Dean demanded.

She looked down at him, glaring, eyes narrowed dangerously. Standing on his shoulders, she was holding onto the rafters of the church they’d broken into. She pulled herself up, swinging her feet and catching him in the side of his head.

“Hey!” he shouted and she smirked as she swung her leg over the beam.

“Oops, sorry bout that,” she said, syrupy sweet.

“Just find the damn box,” he snapped.

Dawn crawled along the rafters until she came to the large beam that ran down the center of the roof. There, right where the old preacher said it would be, tucked into a dusty, cobwebbed corner, she found a small wooden box.

“Got it,” she called, securing herself on the beam and pulling the salt and lighter out of her jacket pocket. She flipped open the box and pulled out the little pile of pictures, the lock of hair and the tarnished silver locket.

“Burn baby burn,” she mumbled, pouring the salt onto the little pile and lighting the edge of the pictures.

“Is it done?” Dean called and Dawn swung down, hanging by her hands and then dropping to the floor. She landed neatly, taking a single step back to steady herself and looking at Dean.

“Think it worked?” she asked.

~*~

Sam groaned as he pushed himself up off the floor. The little boy spirit had packed a hell of a punch. Nothing like dying too young and too violently to piss a person off, he supposed. A victim of a hate crime, back when hate crimes were normal, the little boy’s killer had never seen justice. Apparently, that didn’t sit well with his spirit.

His mother had been a hardcore southern Gospel type and spent her final days in church, praying. From everything they’d been able to find, after her son had been killed, she’d stopped eating, stopped taking care of herself and basically starved to death. In her will, she’d asked the pastor to take her little box of photos, along with a lock of her son’s hair and the only jewelry she owned, a silver locket with her son’s photo inside. Her specific request was that he place it in the rafters of the church, so they’d be close to God. He was betting Dawn and Dean had had a hell of a time crawling around in the condemned building looking for the box. Supposedly, they’d found it, since he’d just watched the spirit of Jordan Whitman go up in flames.

Getting to his feet, Sam made his way out of the apartment building that had been built over the old cemetery where Jordan had been buried. The county swore all the bodies had been moved, but Sam had to wonder if little Jordan was the only one they’d missed or if they’d just moved the headstones and left the bones where they lay.

The Impala rumbled up behind him and pulled over to the curb, Dawn popping out the window before it came to a stop.

“Sammy, you okay?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he said, sighing and she ducked back inside the car so he could open the door. She climbed over the backseat without any of the usual casual arguments about riding shotgun and they were mostly quiet as Dean drove them back to their motel.

It was the usual dive, cheap, sort of clean and off the beaten path. Dawn unlocked the door to her room and stepped inside, dropping her duffel on the end of the bed nearest the door. The quiet was unnerving for a moment, but nice. She had very little time to herself. Still, since they reached the age where Sam and Dawn sharing a bed became awkward, somewhere around 12, Dawn had gotten her own room, with an adjoining door if possible. When they were traveling with their dad, John would try to rent a cheap apartment by the week, but when they had to go the motel route, John would usually crash in the extra bed in Dawn’s room, or make Dean stay with her, much to his chagrin. She was all grown up now, though and that meant privacy, at least occasionally.

Unzipping her bag, she took out a canister of salt and started lining the windowsills. A thin line across her doorjamb and she dropped the can on the table by the bed, grabbed some clothes and other necessities out of her duffel and headed for the bathroom to take a sinfully long, hot shower.

~*~

“Another shot,” Dean said to the bartender, boots propped on the bar under his stool. Sam sat beside him, sipping a beer and both of them glanced over at the bartender when he let out a low whistle.

“Don’t see the likes of that around here much,” the older man murmured and Dean winced, knowing what he’d find when he turned around. Sam just sighed in resignation as they both turned their stools toward the door.

Long legs encased in tight blue denim, a snug black tank top hugging curves that a little sister shouldn’t have, Dawn was drawing plenty of attention as she stepped into the bar. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a thick lock of bangs falling into her blue eyes and she was actually wearing make up. Dean swore under his breath and raised a hand to get her attention. Her eyes landed on them and she smiled and started toward them. The bartender raised an eyebrow.

“She’s with you?”

“She’s our sister,” Sam told him. The bartender didn’t say another word, just found something important to do on the other end of the bar.

A few whistles and catcalls sounded as Dawn made her way across the room to them and Sam sighed.

“Here we go again,” Dean mumbled as Dawn slid onto the next stool. Sam resisted the urge to move and sit on her other side, pinning her between them. Dawn hated it when they went “all protective caveman” on her.

“Do you have to dress like that?” Dean asked, eyeing her low cut top.

“Not dressing any different than one of the thousand women you’ve picked up at dives just like this,” Dawn reminded him, signaling to the bartender and ordering a White Russian when he approached. She didn’t bother waiting for her brothers to rib her about the “girl drink”. They knew she’d start out with a few mixed drinks and move on to shots later if something didn’t happen to prevent it.

“You’re nothing like any of those women,” Dean muttered, darkly.

“Right,” Dawn said, sarcastically. “Just keep telling yourself that, Daddy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dean snapped.

“Then don’t act like him,” Dawn said back, just as sharply.

“Okay, you two, enough!” Sam said and both of them looked at him. “It’s our first night out since you picked me up, can you hold off on the epic battle of pigtails and pornstars?”

“What the hell are you-“ Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

“Dean, Dawn’s not ten anymore. She’s all grown up and she can do what she wants.”

Dawn was smiling smugly at Dean when Sam turned on her.

“Dawn, you’re not a tramp and we all know it, so quit pushing Dean’s buttons. I know you like to see him get all flustered, but seriously, you’re gonna give him a heart attack or something.”

“Whatever,” Dean said and Dawn sighed.

“Sorry, Sam. I’m gonna go pick out some music on the jukebox,” Dawn said, hopping off her stool. She held out a hand to Dean.

“Gimme quarters.”

Dean glowered, but dug into his pocket where he’d stashed a few dollars in change, knowing she’d want it. He handed it over and he and Sam watched as she walked over to the jukebox, her own walk this time, not the sex on two legs act she’d done earlier. Still, eyes followed her every move and Dean shook his head, turning back to his drink.

“It’s gonna be a long night.”

~*~

Dean squinted at the brilliance of the sunlight through the doorway of the motel room. He groaned, the sound seeming abnormally loud when combined with the pounding of his head. Too many shots, trying to drown out the sight of too many guys watching his sister dance and now he was paying for it. Sam was gone, having taken the car to get coffee and Dean was packing up. They were headed out of town as soon as Dawn was ready.

Dawn, however, wasn’t answering her cell and Dean had pounded on the door twice now, warning her that it was time to get up. With still no response and no clear memory of all of them making it back to the motel room, Dean had gotten out his lock picking tools and knelt in front of Dawn’s door. It only took a moment, motel room locks being notoriously cheap and easy to pick and he turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door.

Tousled dark hair covered the pillow, a bare foot stuck out from under the blankets and there were clothes all over the floor. A lot of clothes. Too many clothes for one person, he realized, a little belatedly, as Dawn sat up on the bed, holding the sheet to her chest and glaring. Beside her, a young blond kid he recognized from the bar was stirring.

“Dawn, seriously, what the hell?” he snapped and Dawn’s eyes narrowed.

“Get out of my room, Dean!” she shouted and the guy beside her sat up, looking back and forth between them, nervously, his eyes falling on the gun tucked into the waistband of Dean’s jeans.

“Um, maybe I should-“

“Shut it, junior,” Dean warned him and the younger man paled.

“Is this your-“

“Brother,” Dawn answered, sharply, still in the middle of her stare down with Dean.

“Right,” he said, cautiously.

“If you don’t get out of my room, I’m going to shoot you,” Dawn told her brother, seriously, reaching for the sawed off shotgun she kept beside the bed.

Her new friend’s eyes got even bigger. He was the only one in the room that didn’t know the gun was loaded with rock salt. It wouldn’t kill a man, but it would hurt like hell and Dean knew it. He also knew Dawn wouldn’t hesitate to use it on him. Still, she was naked with a strange guy and the big brother side of him was screaming that it wasn’t okay, didn’t they have a duty to at least drag the guy out of the room with them? Her fingers were closing around the barrel of the gun and Dean’s jaw hurt from clenching his teeth by the time he backed out of the room and shut the door.

Sam pulled in shortly after and found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed in the room they’d slept in, visibly fuming. Sam paused in the doorway, two coffees and a hot chocolate in the drink holder in his hands.

“Dean, what’s up?” he asked.

Dean raised his head and glared and opened his mouth to answer just as the door to Dawn’s room flew open and a half dressed blond guy came stumbling out. Sam stepped outside to stare and Dean got up off the bed and walked out to join him. They watched as Dawn came to the open door, the sheet from the bed wrapped around her like a toga, her shotgun in hand. It was pointed steadily at the retreating young man, who was staring at her with wide eyes and backing away until he reached the sidewalk at the edge of the parking lot. He turned then and ran and Sam looked at Dawn.

“Dawn, you okay?” he asked, carefully. It was never a good idea to poke at Dawn when she was armed.

“Perfectly fine, Sam,” Dawn said, glaring after her retreating bed-partner.

“Then what’s with the firepower?” Dean asked.

“Asshole said my family was psychotic,” she said, lowering the gun.

“He’s not wrong,” Sam said with a shrug, after a moment.

“Nope, he’s not, but no one gets to say so but us,” Dawn said, stepping back into her room and slamming the door shut.

Sam looked at Dean, whose lips were twitching into a grin.

“That’s our girl,” he said, grabbing his coffee from Sam and heading for the Impala.

~*~


	5. My Father was a Drinker and a Fiend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let sleeping Keys lie...

Connor Reilly (Angel-Holtz) knew a thing or two about being sneaky. He’d been raised in a Hell Dimension, lived on the streets in L.A. and grew up with a younger sister who always ransacked his stuff. Being sneaky was a perfectly valid tool for survival, though maybe not the most honest of them. His Reilly dad would disapprove, Holtz had always believed that the ends justified the means and he didn’t know Angel well enough to know what he’d think. Though, given that Angel-dad had double-crossed a law firm intent on hell on earth, maybe the Vampire would be okay with a little sneakiness.   
  
So he was perfectly capable of sneaking (okay, breaking) into Sam Winchester’s apartment to have a look around. He was curious; really, really curious. It certainly wasn’t every day that the only other person in the world who could even kind of understand the freak-show that his life had turned into waltzed past him in a breeze of girl-smell and shiny hair. Who could pass that up?  
  
The flaw in his plan came with the realizations that, firstly, Winchester lived with his girlfriend, (Jessica someone, who Connor vaguely recognized from high-pressure study sessions around finals time). Secondly, when he finally managed to get into the apartment, he realized that everything in there belonged to her and not Sam. There was, like, one photograph in the whole place that was maybe Sam’s and even then, he wasn’t certain. Who the hell was this guy, seriously? He was there for an hour and there was nothing. If he hadn’t asked, like, three different people, he wouldn’t have believed that the guy even lived there.   
  
Connor hadn’t ever really thought that anyone else at Stanford lived quite as minimally as he did- and Connor had grown up in a freaking hell dimension. Even with another lifetime’s worth of memories he still didn’t understand what the purpose of having stuff was; what was this guy’s excuse? Maybe he was just piss-poor. He knew that Sam wasn’t well off- they’d studied together often enough that he could tell the guy was broke without having to ask- but he hadn’t thought he was, like, in the bread-line poor.   
  
He narrowly escaped the apartment after that, forced to jump from two floors up to avoid the girlfriend’s return and the curiosity waned as he focused on packing up and saying his goodbyes for the summer. He was finished; grad school waited, maybe, if he could ever decide what he wanted to do. Angel had got him a job- a position in L.A. working with the New Council training Slayers. He was thinking about it; couldn’t decide if he’d rather leave the state and go somewhere as far away from L.A. and the things that went bump or really dive into that world and return to his roots as the Destroyer.   
  
From what he’d heard, no-one had ever managed to find a good balance between normal and supernatural. He’d grown used to normal, but he was pretty sure that he couldn’t outrun the dark, fast as he was.   
  
He couldn’t think how to explain to his parents that he knew someone who knew someone who could offer him the kind of position with the Council that was on the table. His mom didn’t even know he could fight and his dad was practically a Buddhist. The thought was enough to knock him from his haze, watching the scenery pass from the passenger seat of his dad’s SUV. Reilly-dad, of course, as it was sunny and warm out and it was normal for parents to collect their kids at the end of college, right? Reilly-dad thought so, anyway, and Connor wasn’t going to question it. He might still feel guilty for being dropped into their lives from nowhere but he couldn’t help the warm, safe, feeling that came from having his parents look out for him.  
  
“Have you thought about grad school yet, son?” His dad had asked several times already, over the preceding year. Connor wasn’t sure if the man despaired at the idea of paying for grad school or if he was thrilled that it was an option. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.   
  
“I think I’ll be taking a year out, Dad. I’m all studied out.” It was a lame excuse and he knew it; he ignored the crease in his father’s forehead, indicating that Larry Reilly didn’t believe him. “I was thinking of traveling around, maybe taking a road trip? I need to get out of California.” He remembered being in other places; international holidays and continental road-trips, but he was pretty sure that his physical body had never left the region of California. He could feel an ache in his cells, a desire to run, that had been mostly missing since he’d been whammied by W&H. On the dark days, he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d squashed that part of him- the wanderer- to keep him close by, just in case. On the good days, he didn’t like to think about it. Most times, he preferred to think of himself as Connor Reilly, the guy who had some whacked memories of shit that some other dude did. It was what he needed to do to keep himself sane, he was sure.  
  
His dad, and oh, he loved this about the man, grinned a little and offered to help him find a decent car.   
“Every good road-trip needs an unreliable car.” And Connor had settled into his seat with a grin, listening to Larry’s voice as he regaled his eldest child with stories about burst tires, overheating radiators and that one time in Vegas that he’d been within spitting distance of Mick Jagger. It was comfortable; familiar, and enough to let Connor know that whatever he did, he would always have family to come home to.  
  


  
He was back in L.A. for three days when the Council sent a parcel to his home, outlining their offer and their benefits and the options open to him- he could travel, maybe, with a Slayer or two, and be the heart of one of the roving teams or, if he’d prefer, he could settle in a city and carve out a territory. Or any of another dozen options they were setting forth, so accommodating that Connor actually felt ill thinking about it. It made him wonder what they wanted from him. Angel had reassured him a dozen times that the Slayers were trying to woo him because they needed him, not because they needed to keep an eye on him but he wasn’t sure he was convinced.   
  
He thought about it, discussed it (sort of) with his parents and, eventually, decided that it wasn’t for him. None of it was, anymore. He’d gotten that reminder when he broke into Sam Winchester’s (the man was his friend) apartment to search for any sign of Dawn Summers- the supernatural stuff, the dark stuff… it dragged him in and under until he couldn’t see or hear anything else; couldn’t relate to anything or anyone and couldn’t distract himself from whatever target it was he’d fixated on.   
  
He was pretty sure that if he’d found anything in Sam’s home that had indicated where the other man was gone for the summer or if he’d had the stones to ask Jess, that he’d be long gone already, chasing after Sam to find Dawn. He couldn’t let himself get that obsessed, again, with anything. Last time had ended in pain and death and a new life with people who didn’t deserve the crap that being his family brought them.   
  
So, no. He’d be saying no thanks to the Council and to Angel and he was going to take a trip for the summer, maybe, and he was going to lock the Destroyer back into its box. He’d promised the Vampire that he’d think about it and that he’d visit over the summer; spend some time catching up with the gang and maybe he’d do that for a day or two, if he could think of a way of limiting his exposure to the weirdness that followed Angel around.  
  


  
It took him weeks to make his way to the old Hyperion hotel, though Angel had called twice to remind him. Connor had made excuses each time but finally couldn’t put it off any longer and made the trek into the city on an otherwise uneventful Thursday, begging off his sister’s pleas to go to the movies for the afternoon.   
  
In hindsight, he really thought he should have gone to the movies, even if it was to see some awful tweenage rom-com. He didn’t knock, just strode in like he owned the place; like he remembered doing, back in the day. He felt a little uneasy, feeling the Destroyer settle across his shoulders like a worn jacket. For once, the foyer was almost full- twenty people, only some of whom he recognized, were listening carefully to a small blonde woman who was stationed on the stairs and holding a shiny red bladed thing in one hand.   
  
Back when he was still Stephen, Cordelia had filled him in on his father’s star-crossed-lovers history with the blonde head of the Slayer’s Council. Connor, with the weight of two lifetimes (albeit, short ones) behind him, thought that the whole thing was ooky- what kind of Slayer fell for a Vampire? And the Vampire in question was about a gazillion years older than her, too. If any guy more than a year older than his sister asked her out, his dad would put an end to it before Connor could- and she was eighteen; two years older than the Slayer had been when Angel met her first.   
  
It was one of many things that Connor Reilly found kind of objectionable about his biological father’s lifestyle. He liked the guy, really; he did. But he kind of agreed that the best thing Angel ever did for him was give him a new family, though in hindsight the cost of that family was probably too high- Wolfram and Hart had been an exercise in disaster that left Wesley dead and Fred being worn as and the suit for an Old One. And no-one had heard from Lorne since, either, though Connor wasn’t even sure they were looking for him because how hard could that search be? ‘Have you seen a guy around here with green skin? No? Thanks anyway’.   
  
The blonde Slayer- Buffy (and don’t get him started on what a stupid name Buffy was)- had everyone’s attention. The crowd was a mixture of middle aged men and barely-twenty-year-old girls and, in Connor’s highly critical mind, looking like the grand opening of a brothel. The A.I team was standing off to the side, probably trying to prevent Illyria from ripping off assorted body parts. He nodded once to Angel in greeting before turning his attention to the head of the Council.   
  
“Okay people, listen up- we’ve just gotten word from Willow and it looks like the First Evil is regrouping and about to make another play. According to the Seers, it’s searching for a power-source and we cannot let that happen. This thing is bad enough without any extra juice.” She made a face and clutched her weapon tighter. “Every Slayer here has faced down the First before- you were all in Sunnydale; you know the score. We have a lead on a potential power source and I need all of you out there, searching for it.”   
  
She seemed to pause and Connor got this feeling in the pit of his stomach that everything was about to turn to crap.  
  
“About eight years ago, there was a God by the name of Glorificius trapped in this dimension and she was searching for a dimensional key so she could get home. The key’s protectors made the key human and sent her to me as my sister.” She indicated to the T.V screen by the reception desk and a familiar face flashed up- a grinning teenage girl, younger by far than the girl he’d seen just weeks before. “Her name is Dawn and I sent her away before Sunnydale collapsed. We gave her a new life; a new family and I thought… I really hoped that this supernatural crap didn’t need to be in her future. But we need to find her fast, before the First does. She needs to know who she really is and how to protect herself.” In her words, Connor could hear her eagerness; her joy at the prospect of seeing her sister again. She seemed sincere; sounded almost relieved to have a reason and though he knew that she’d kept herself away from her sister for six years, that didn’t stop the rush of indignation from hitting him.   
  
They were doing it again. His stomach sank and he could feel the Destroyer’s anger beginning to burn in his heart. They were going to mess with her; rip the carpet out from under her and change her life completely. Around him, people were being issued with maps and photos and designated search areas; Connor could hear the briefing of where to search, who to ask- they were starting with universities, the Ivy League ones because according to her sister, Dawn had always wanted to go Ivy League and she was smart enough to do it. He didn’t tell them that things change when you change a lifetime’s worth of memories. He didn’t tell them that priorities shift; old loyalties are destroyed and allegiances shift.   
  
He made small talk with Angel, briefly, before making an excuse of just ‘being in the neighbourhood’ and fleeing, palming a map and a photo on his way out the door. Angel had done it to him- taken away his identity (twice, if he was feeling petty) and changed his life completely and this girl, this beautiful, innocent girl who knew nothing about the bad shit that happened in the world and knew nothing about what he’d seen of the darkness: they were about to throw her back into it, eager to have her back for themselves and not caring about what it would do to her.   
  
He had a lead- Sam Winchester. He had details- the classic black car and the ridiculously pretty man she’d been traveling with. He could find her a lot faster than these Slayers and when he did, he could hide her better than them, too.   
  
He didn’t even realize, as he left the hotel, that it wasn’t Connor Reilly that was in the driver’s seat anymore- obsession was the Destroyer’s trait, inherited from Holtz and Angel and Darla, even. When he left Los Angeles behind him without even stopping to tell his family goodbye, there was only one thing on his mind: Find her first. Obsession.


	6. These Four Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal sucks

East Jesus, Montana was where everything turned to shit for Faith Lehane. Well, where everything turned to shit the second time. The first time, she had been young and strong and trying her best to show off for the blonde Slayer; there had been an alleyway and a stake in her hand and she’d felt the blood trickle through her fingers as her own future slipped away. And she’d done it; she’d killed a man, and she killed two men after him, too. She’d taken three lives and had been prepared to spend her life in prison to pay for it. She’d clawed her way back, somehow, out of the shit and back into some semblance of normal- whatever normal was for a Slayer.

The second time her life slid into the crapper, she didn’t deserve it. She hadn’t taken any lives; she was not prepared to spend her life in prison to redeem herself because, dammit, she was already as redeemed as she was ever gonna get.

But she’d been caught, all the same, blood on her skin and knife in her hands and the cops in whatever shitty town she’d been in had been all too happy to take her away in cuffs. She was a Slayer, so of course she could have escaped; she could have evaded them easily and been three towns over before anyone was looking for her.

But the fucker who had killed those people, whatever evil piece of shit it was she had stumbled across- it was still out there. And she really didn’t want to hurt these people; they were innocent, too. They were just doing their jobs and she couldn’t hold it against them- she wouldn’t take it personally. Besides, the Council had lawyers now; people who were paid to deal with the stuff that came from being a Slayer. They had lawyers and Buffy knew the president. She could make a few calls and have the whole thing cleared up and be back to Slaying by nightfall.

She’d thought it would be that easy- just pick up the phone and call Giles, and he’d fix it for her. She was innocent; she’d done nothing wrong. She’d been trying to be the hero and save the day- just like Buffy; just like any good Slayer.

But it seemed that Faith had forgotten that she was the bad Slayer and when she called the Council, Giles promised to ‘look into it’ and sent her a lawyer two days later who asked her whether her plea would be Guilty or Not Guilty by reason of insanity. Apparently, Giles had ‘looked into it’ and found her lacking. Lacking innocence; lacking an alibi; lacking in whatever goodness it was he automatically assumed the rest of the Slayers had.

None of them tried to contact her; no-one visited. Not even Angel and he’d always been on her side. She’d thought so, anyway.

Part of her understood, even as she lay on her back staring at the plain white ceiling of her cell, her skin crawling from the scratchy sheets and her pulse pounding in her ears, demanding that she break out; get out; get free. Part of her understood.

Fucking shape shifters. Her fingerprints had been everywhere; all over the three murder scenes in the town, on the weapons; the walls; the bodies. No-one listened when she swore she’d been tracking it from Wisconsin. She understood that. It sounded crazy- but they lived crazy and she had expected better from the New Council. She was secretly hoping that there was an apocalypse, or a new big bad or something else that would explain away the fact that she was still in custody for crimes that she actually didn’t commit.

She hadn’t spoken a word in seven days, - not since she’d broken her lawyer’s nose, four days into her second imprisonment- when the feds came to collect her. The sheriff had explained that there were old warrants in the system matching her prints and that she was the F.B.I’s problem now. He’d spoken with a glee that she wanted to beat out of him but she didn’t because regardless of what anyone else thought about her, she was better now, dammit. She was redeemed; reformed; rehabilitated.

That she resisted the urge was evidence of her innocence that she planned to use to beat into the rest of the Council, later. After she’d escaped and killed the shape shifter responsible. After she’d managed to track that slippery fucker down, again. She didn’t manage to suppress the groan at the mere thought of it, but she bit back the tears that threatened; she wasn’t going to cry over this, regardless of what rage and hurt was building up inside. She was a better person now; she was good, finally. She had nothing to cry about.

The single tear that slid down her cheek would be the last tear Faith Lehane would ever cry because of the Council. She made that promise to herself.


	7. Hunter in the Shadows is Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things you just can't bury

Connor rubbed his gritty eyes and glanced at the dashboard gauges, noting that the needle was below the quarter tank line on the fuel gauge. The car was an older model Honda, but his dad, the most recent dad, that is, Larry Reilly, promised him it’d get good gas mileage and it had seemed pretty solid when they bought it back in L.A. Angel had offered him a car when he found out Connor was planning a drive across the country, but somehow, Connor didn’t think showing up in a shiny new vehicle that there was no way he could afford was going to help his case when he finally caught up with Sam Winchester and his companions. The faded red Honda had cost less than a thousand and had so far proven to be a dependable ride.

A call to Sam’s cell phone a few days earlier, feigning boredom and a lack of summer plans, had Connor headed northeast, toward Wyoming. Sam had told him they were camping there, visiting some old friends of the family. Using an IPhone application that one of his friends at Stanford had messed with for him, Connor was able to connect his own phone with Sam’s and track the other man’s GPS signal without the usual required permissions.

Along with Sam’s location, Connor had also picked up that the guy he’d seen at Stanford was Sam’s brother and that Dawn, in this life, was Sam’s twin sister. That bit of information had sent Connor’s mind reeling. The idea of tearing down the veil between this version of Dawn and the last, knowing that she was a twin, that she had brothers now that she was obviously close to was all the more horrible. A sick feeling in his stomach, Connor found himself driving a little faster, determined that he would be the one to find her first, before the Council, before Angel or the others. He’d be dammed if any more lives were going to be ripped apart.

There was a small part of him that had realized and come to terms with the fact that Connor Reilly wasn’t completely in control anymore. The Destroyer had risen to the surface as soon as he’d decided to go after Dawn and her brothers. It had scented prey and there was a slight thrill inside him as the hunter stretched its senses and began the search. For a moment, Connor had thought about trying to push that part of him back down, of locking it away. He relented, though, admitting to himself that the Destroyer was a far better hunter and had the best chance of finding Dawn. Resigned to the fact that he was going to have to come to terms with the duality of his own existence, Connor pulled off at the next truck stop alongside the highway.

As the attendant filled the gas tank of his car, Connor picked up a few snacks in the mini-mart, along with a microwaved burrito and a cup of hot coffee. He was waiting in line to pay when his phone beeped and he juggled his purchases to get it out of his pocket. The Winchesters were moving, leaving Wyoming, heading into South Dakota. Paying for his gas and food, Connor hurried across the parking lot and pulled out of the truck stop without a glance backward. His foot was heavy on the accelerator, burrito forgotten on the passenger seat, coffee cooling in the cup holder as the highway stretched out in front of him, seemingly endless black space between him and his prey.


	8. Might is Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friends, a shift in loyalties

The Feds, when they got to her cell, were not quite what she was expecting. She had visions of men in black suits, toting tranquilizer guns and glaring at her; passing judgement on their crazy prisoner.

What she got was something different- there were only two of them, to start, and they were armed, sure, but there were no black suits and no tranquilizer guns in sight. The elder of the pair, a skinny black guy in his fifties, snapped her cuffs on behind her back as his partner dealt with the transfer paperwork.

“Y’all are sure you can take care of this one with just the two of you? She’s dangerous.” The Sheriff was the one on the receiving end of the hard stares.

“We’ll manage, I’m sure.” The partner was younger, in her forties, and held herself like a woman who was used to dealing with men who thought she couldn’t handle herself. Faith liked her immediately. “Now Sheriff, do you want to say goodbye to your collar? You ain’t gonna see her again, ‘less it’s on the news.” Well, she liked her attitude, if not her opinion. The Sheriff shook his head, bemused and watched as they led her from the cell- cuffed at her hands and feet-, through the halls and out the front door into the fading sunlight.

Faith waited until they had her in the backseat on their SUV- a big, black monster of a car with windows tinted so dark that even her Slayer vision couldn’t see inside- to ask where they were taking her.

“Sioux Falls, South Dakota.” The woman grinned back at her from the front seat and tossed a key into her lap. “Bobby sent us.”

“You’re not… you’re not FBI?” The Slayer’s entire body tensed, confused and not daring to hope. She’d hoped before, and she’d been burned more than once.

“Naw, darlin’, but we did steal their ride.” And the woman winked at her before turning back to the road. “And their prisoner.” And they laughed; her rescuers laughed as though they hadn’t just saved her life by taking her away from what was sure to be a lifetime in a small box.

“Why would Bobby send you to get me?” She’d met him once and he hadn’t seemed to like her much. She watched her rescuers even as her fingers worked the cuffs with the key. She was free in seconds and leaned forward, looking through the gap between the two front seats. They glanced at her, faces painted with identical expressions of confusion.

“Because you’re innocent, sweetheart. Does he need another reason?” For her? Yeah, there was usually another reason. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but apparently her tongue was looser when she was confused.

“Listen, girl, whatever shit you’re used to dealing with, that’s not gonna happen now. Bobby threw us a tip about a shifter up this way and we got here yesterday and tracked that fucker down. It wasn’t wearing your face anymore, but we got it.” The man spoke as if those words would make sense to her.

“A shifter? You guys work for the Council?” They exchanged a glance and then cursed in unison; the car swerving across the road as she turned to stare at the Slayer.

“God no, we’re not Council. I wouldn’t touch those snakes if it was the End of Days and they had the only seats in the reserved section.” They looked at one another again, communicating something that Faith couldn’t decipher. “Are you Council?”

It was a loaded question; Faith was pretty sure they’d know if she lied and she was certain they’d kick her out of the car if she said yes.

“I used to be… until they left me to rot in prison, I was.” They didn’t confer again; the woman just nodded once and that was it.

“I’m Ellen, this is Rufus. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Faith Lehane.”

And that seemed to be enough for them; good enough to earn her a spot in their next vehicle, ten miles outside town. The woman drove the SUV off-road and returned with a beat-up Camero instead and they changed clothes on the side of the road; exchanging slacks and shirts for jeans and flannel. Faith was not surprised to see an array of weaponry strapped to both; knives and guns like she remembered from Bobby’s house. Whoever they were, they knew their stuff- littered with scars and reminders of battles long past.

Ellen gave her clothes too- jeans and a shirt that was a size too small but was actually something she might consider wearing. She tossed her prison-issue jumpsuit on the ground and took satisfaction from grinding it into the dirt.

“You know where my truck is?” She missed that truck with a sudden pang; a fierce loneliness that wasn’t really about the truck at all.

Rufus was sitting in the driver’s seat, already, looking impatient and Ellen held open the passenger door, waiting for Faith to clamber into the back.

“It’s back at Bobby’s. He drove it down there himself.”

“He was here?” If he’d been in town, why hadn’t he come for her himself? What the hell were these people doing? The relief that her truck was okay didn’t wash away any of the hurt, but it was a warm, fuzzy thought in the back of her mind all the same.

“He was the one who tracked the shifter.” The man glanced back at her, just for a second, and almost smiled. Almost. “But your Council know who Bobby is and we don’t want them to know that Bobby’s still in the game.” The game? The demon game?

“What game? Demons aren’t a game.” They’re a lifestyle. She didn’t say it aloud, settling back in her seat and waiting for an answer.

“The Hunting game, kiddo. Not just demons- shifters; spirits; witches. If it’s hurting people, we put it down.” He met her gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Don’t see many demons outside the big cities- they don’t like the boonies. But we got plenty of other shit without worrying about those smokey fuckers.”

Hunting. They were Hunting. Bobby was a Hunter? Faith had heard stories- but they were only vague rumours. Hell, even Buffy had only met one Hunter in all her years on the Hellmouth.

“You guys are demon hunters?” She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised- she lived in this world already. What was there to be shocked by?

“Yeah, we are. Have been for longer than you, too, so show some respect, huh?” The same spirit Faith had been impressed with earlier was still there, in her tone.

“Why do you do it? You’re both… normal. Why put yourself in danger like that?” She’d never understood why the Scoobies did it, either, though none of them were normal by the end. Not really.

Ellen seemed both saddened and a little surprised when she spoke.

“Someone’s got to, kid, and we know what’s out there. I can’t speak for Rufus, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna sit back and let people die just so I can be normal.”

Faith had no answer to that- she’d been a Slayer for so long that she’d almost forgotten what it meant to be normal, and when she’d been just a girl, she’d been in no position to help anyone else. She sat back in her seat, stunned to silence for the first time in a long time.

She watched the miles pass without a word. Ellen and Rufus fought over the radio and traded stories about other Hunters using in-jokes and code that meant she understood less than half of what they were talking about. They might trust her to share space with them, but they weren’t going to risk giving any details about themselves, or their friends, to someone who was so close to the Council. She could understand that- hell, she’d have done the same if she was in their place. They didn’t know her well enough to know that this was one step too far for Faith- if Giles didn’t believe that she was innocent this time; if he really didn’t think she’d changed in the last ten years, then Faith wouldn’t go back to them.

She’d been surprised when the F.B.I had turned up to collect her, because she’d been expecting Homeland Security- that should have tipped her off, really, but she forgave herself the lapse after spending a week in jail, convinced she’d end up on death row this time.

It was a long drive to Sioux Falls- ten hours, with the hard driving shared between the two Hunters. They stopped twice, for gas and food, and it was approaching dawn by the time the Faith saw the junkyard through the window. It hadn’t changed in the months since her last visit- not for the better, anyway, though she thought there were more cars stacked in the yard.

Her truck was in sight, parked close to the house and Faith resisted the urge to check it over. She followed Rufus to the house, instead, as Ellen lingered in the car to make a call. Bobby greeted Rufus with a manly handshake and a shot-glass of clear liquid. Faith was presented with one too and she drank without hesitating. This man had saved her from a life in prison; she almost had to trust him now.

“You been followed?” His question was directed at Rufus, but they both answered no. She’d have seen a tail, even distracted as she had been.

“Good.” He disappeared into the living room for a moment and returned with a tiny cloth bag in one hand. “Keep this with you at all times- it’ll hide you from witches.” She raised an eyebrow- really? There was something out there that could keep Willow from tracing her? “I’ve put one under the passenger seat in the truck, too, so they can’t find you that way.”

“Sweet. Thanks.” She might have sounded blasé, but she meant it.

“Why’d they leave you there?” He could only have meant the Council.

“Because I’ve played on the other side of the fence before and they think I’ve gone back to the dark side.” She swallowed a vein of hurt. “They don’t trust me.”

“You do your time?” She met his gaze, suddenly aware that he knew all about her before he’d even asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” Two years in jail and three more on the road, stamping out fires for the Council all across North America- that was her time served. “I was in prison, for a while, but I broke out when they needed me and I didn’t go back, afterwards.” Maybe she should have.

“Okay. The bed is made up in the spare room- top of the stairs, first door on your left. Get some sleep. We’ll hash everything else out later.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard one and she climbed the stairs, wary and weary and half-afraid to question what was happening in case it would all go away. She didn’t want this to end with a bullet between the eyes.

The spare room was Spartan- a decent bed and a locker beside it, but there were no pictures, no rugs or throws or any of that girly shit. Her duffel was sitting on the floor. Faith could have cried; really, she could have. She didn’t own much and she’d never asked for much from the Council- so still having her stuff was a pretty big freaking deal.

She changed, brushed her teeth in the bathroom across the hall, and was awake only long enough to hear Ellen and Rufus climb the stairs and claim the other bedrooms. Bobby, her saviour in a baseball cap, turned on the radio downstairs and started his days work in the junkyard. The sound of metal on metal lulled her into her first decent sleep in more than two weeks.


	9. When Good Hunts Go Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family don't end with blood, but blood can be pretty damn important

“I’m gonna kill her,” Dean growled, edging along the side of the building. “Soon as we get her out of here and make sure she’s okay, I’m gonna kill her myself.”  
  
Sam said nothing, his jaw clenched. He could hear the thread of worry, almost panic in Dean’s voice and while his words were all rage, there was fear in his eyes.  
  
They’d been on the trail of a demon for a week and Dean and Dawn had gotten into one of their usual arguments about what Dawn was and wasn’t allowed to do on a hunt. She’d proven herself capable, over and over through the years, but when things got dangerous, Dean tended to go into protective older brother mode. That never went over well with Dawn. Sam could only guess at what she’d been thinking when she left the bar without them that night. He was betting she was out to prove to Dean, yet again, that she was just as good a hunter as either of them. Problem was, the demon they’d been chasing had a friend or two. From what he and Dean had been able to piece together, the demons had gotten the drop on Dawn and taken off with her.  
  
Sam had tracked Dawn’s cell signal by calling the phone company and pretending to be her father. GPS had led them here, to this housing project at the edge of town.  
  
The two of them sidled along the building, backs pressed flat to the corrugated metal walls. They could hear voices inside, not the words, but the tone and it was clear they were taunting someone. A feminine cry rang out through the building and Sam gritted his teeth to keep silent. He didn’t think it was Dawn’s voice, but pain could make a person sound different.  
  
They slipped in through a side door and followed the sound of the voices, hoping it would lead them to Dawn.  
  
~*~  
  
Dawn cursed herself, silently as she worked at the ropes that bound her wrists. They’d taken her weapons and stripped off her jacket. Her phone was still in the pocket and it was sitting on a crate across the room. That was good, it meant Sam and Dean would be able to find her. She knew damn well Sam could track the GPS in her phone.   
  
Dawn could hear the two demons, somewhere in the building, probably torturing the girl they’d been stalking when she found them. She kept hearing short screams and whimpers and didn’t really want to think about what they were doing.  
  
Blood dripped into her eye from the gash on her forehead. One of the demons had hit her with what might’ve been a lead pipe. She’d woken up here, tied and helpless and seriously pissed off. She wasn’t going to admit to the scared part, not even in her head. She knew Dean would give her hell when they caught up to her, for sneaking off and not listening to him and she might even deserve it, but Dawn closed her eyes against the sting of tears and wished like hell for her brothers to come for her.  
  
~*~  
  
Dean was cursing and ducking another swing of the demon’s knife when Sam began the exorcism. Dawn, still tied to the chair, was cussing and spitting insults at the two demons fighting her brothers as she struggled against her bonds.  
  
“Dean, lookout!” she shouted and Dean growled as he grabbed the demon’s wrist, trying to knock the knife loose.  
  
Sam finished the exorcism rite and a cloud of black smoke erupted from the host body the other demon had been inhabiting. The man dropped to the ground, either unconscious or dead and Sam turned to help Dean.  
  
~*~  
  
It felt like she was watching a movie in slow motion. A horror movie, the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen. Dawn had trouble drawing breath as she watched. Sam grabbed the demon by the back of his shirt and jerked him away from Dean. The demon spun around, still gripping his knife and lashed out, catching Sam’s forearm with the sharp blade. The cut was shallow, but right across the muscle and Sam instinctively drew back. Dean leapt at that moment, his own knife in hand, aiming to cut the demon’s throat from behind, but the demon, no longer distracted by Sam, turned at the last second.  
  
The scream that ripped from Dawn’s throat echoed through the building as that shiny blade disappeared into Dean’s body. Her heart stopped for the longest second of her life when Dean went down, dropping to his knees. Sam had the demon now, pulling him back from Dean, spitting out the exorcism rites faster than ever before, until the black cloud exploded from the host and the empty shell of a man dropped to the ground. Breathing hard, eyes wide, Sam took a step toward Dean, then looked at Dawn, then indecision clear as day on his face.  
  
“Cut me loose, Sam so we can get him out of here,” Dawn said, yanking at the ropes.  
  
Sam crossed the short distance quickly and cut through the ropes at her wrists. She grabbed the knife from him.  
  
“Go, make sure he’s breathing,” she ordered, bending to cut her ankles free.  
  
Sam was already kneeling beside Dean when Dawn scrambled to his side, ropes still trailing from her wrists and ankles.  
  
“Dean? Please, Dean, come on, be okay,” she said, cupping his face, patting his cheeks lightly, trying to get him to look at her.   
  
Sam was pulling open his jacket, putting his fingers into the hole made by the knife and ripping his shirt apart, revealing the angry puncture in Dean’s torso, the blood pouring from the wound and soaking into his clothes. He was breathing and his eyelids were fluttering, but he wasn’t waking up. Tears stung the back of Dawn’s eyes and she wished like hell for Dean to sit up and tease her about it.  
  
~*~  
  
“Don’t you die on me, Dean, I’ll kill you, I swear it,” Dawn demanded, sitting in the back of the Impala while Sam drove. Every few moments, she met her twin’s worried gaze in the rearview before his eyes went back to the road. The engine roared as they rocketed through the night, eating up the miles between Dean and hope.  
  
Bobby’s place was a half-hour drive east, the nearest hospital an hour west. The old hunter, more of an uncle to the Winchester siblings, had stitched all of them up more than once in the past and they were counting on him being able to do it again. What neither Sam or Dawn was admitting that aside from his medical skills, Bobby had just about every bit of lore known to man or demonkind. If the worst happened, if that fragile heartbeat under Dawn’s palm stopped, they’d have the means to find a way to get him back.  
  
And they would, Dawn promised herself, even if she had to kiss a crossroads demon, sell her soul, to make it happen. Her father would never forgive her, Dean would be pissed and Sam… well, Sam would be right there in the crossroads with her, arguing that it should be his soul instead. None of that would matter, though as long as her big brother was alive.  
  
Every pothole in Bobby’s driveway seemed strategically placed to slow them down and Dawn cringed as each bump drew a low moan from Dean’s unconscious form. Her jeans and shirt were soaked through with blood and Dawn was worried about the sheer volume of it that was no longer in Dean’s body. Even if Bobby could stitch him up, she wasn’t sure what they’d do about blood.  
  
Knowing all of their blood types was one of the rules, since Hunters tended to lose a lot of the red stuff and it was always good to know one’s options. Dean was A positive, like their mother had been. Sam and Dawn were B negative, like John. They couldn’t give him their blood and she was pretty sure she remembered Bobby being a type B as well. There was a very real possibility that even if Bobby could fix Dean’s wound, they could still lose him. Swallowing back the urge to cry, to give in to the panic that had a stranglehold on her heart, Dawn focused on putting pressure on Dean’s wound, watching the lights of Bobby’s house draw closer through the windshield. A light at the end of a tunnel… or possibly a freight train coming their way.  
  
~*~  
  
Faith was a person who prided herself on being impossible to shock. She’d seen it all, done most of it and none of it had the power to surprise her any longer. She heard the rumble of the car’s engine, the booted footsteps on the porch and then Bobby came in from the kitchen, ever-present shotgun in hand. Before he could reach the door, it slammed open and Faith stared as a six-foot something guy walked in, dragging a body with him. Just as she realized the body was still breathing and bleeding, a tall slender girl entered the house, carrying the legs, her long dark hair hanging around her face. She straightened, flipping her hair back in a practiced move and shock hit Faith like an icy fist to the chest.  
  
Wide blue eyes, full lips and a heart shaped face. Blood dripped from a cut on her forehead and Dawn Summers, sister of the only other Chosen Slayer, Buffy, looked at Faith without a single spark of recognition. Somehow, Faith was thinking that this, where Dawn ran with demon hunters and showed up bleeding at an ex-Watcher’s house in the middle of the night wasn’t quite what Buffy had envisioned when she agreed to the spell to give her sister a new life.  
  
~*~  
  
It didn’t seem real. The blood was warm, sticky on her hands, but Dawn felt like maybe she wasn’t really there, like maybe she was dreaming. Dimly, she realized she was probably a little shocky, but she just wasn’t up to analyzing the logic at the moment.  
  
Bobby’s face was flushed, curses flying from his lips as he ripped Dean’s shirt _ACDC, he’d be pissed in the morning _away from the wound. Hands appeared, holding towels and Dawn noticed the dark haired girl in a sort of peripheral way. She took stock quickly, out of habit mostly.  
  
Slim, compact build, muscles moving under the tanned skin in a way that said she was stronger than she looked. Her hands were steady, face calm. Dean’s bleeding body wasn’t fazing her, so violence was probably a fairly common occurrence in her life. Just her presence at Bobby’s insinuated that she was a hunter and something about her just seemed to scream “predator”. She met whiskey brown eyes, watching Dawn assess her and the ghost of a smile flickered on her lips.  
  
Both of them blinked, turned when Bobby spoke.  
  
“I can close him up and I don’t think any vital organs are damaged, but he’s gonna need a shitload of blood,” Bobby said, already opening a sterile suture packet from the suitcase sized med kit he kept in the closet. “Sam, get one of those IV kits out, we’ll have to do a direct transfusion from one of you-“  
  
“Bobby, we can’t. He’s type A and we’re both B,” Sam interrupted.  
  
“Sonofabitch,” Bobby muttered, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m B too.”  
  
“Guess it’s a damn good thing that blood is the only subject I ever got an A+ in, isn’t it?”  
  
They turned as one to see the brunette shrugging off her black hoodie and taking off her watch. She tossed the sweater on the back of the couch and gave them all calm eyes.  
  
“Which of you can tap a vein?”


	10. Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big brothers aren't the only ones who get all sorts of protective

They were waiting. Dawn sucked at waiting, but she figured she could handle this for just another little while, especially since there was a pinched, sad look on Sam’ face and Bobby had that concerned-gaze thing going. She wasn’t going to whine and bitch about Dean holding them up… not this time. Not when they were waiting to see if Bobby’s stitches would hold, or if they’d need to make a mad dash to the hospital anyway.   
  
She hated waiting for Dean when he was hurt; hated seeing him hurt, and she’d seen him hurt plenty of times. This time was different. For one, they really didn’t want to bring him to a hospital because they’d left a lot of his blood in a warehouse with two dead bodies and until they had a chance to go back and clean that up, keeping Dean away from anyone that might arrest him for murder was Plan A.   
  
For another, Bobby had hustled them out of the living room and into the kitchen and they had to be content with watching their brother from a distance, even though Bobby’s new stray got to stay. Okay, so she was unconscious on the sofa beside Dean, but she still got to stay and Dawn got hustled out of there like a stranger at a wedding. Bobby made them sit at the table and handed them both a beer before cleaning and stitching their own cuts- Dawn had a nasty gash on her forehead and Sam had a slice on his arm that needed to be washed and bandaged or he’d get an infection. Dean would kick both their asses if either of them got an infection while he wasn’t conscious to nag them.   
  
“Who’s the girl, Bobby?” She’d rolled up her sleeve and Bobby had drained three pints of blood into their brother before she passed out. Sam had tried to stop them at one; Bobby had tried to stop her at two, but she’d just told them she could handle it and that he was to go for three. The junk-man was just putting the last butterfly bandage on Dawn’s laceration when Sam asked and Dawn was close enough to see something flash in his eyes that meant he was considering lying.   
  
“And don’t lie.” She warned, meeting his eyes with a glare.  
  
“She’s a Hunter, of a sort. Had a run in with the law and she’s staying here until things cool down.” True, but not the full truth; Dawn glanced at her twin and saw Sam’s eyes light up with curiosity.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘of a sort’?” Bobby should really have learned not to try evading answers when dealing with the Winchesters. They knew him too well and the moment he tried something, one of the twins would pin him on it. Dean, sometimes, would let it slide- but Dawn and Sam would never. The more he vagued it up, the more persistent they’d become and the man knew that.   
  
Oh. Of course he knew that; he knew, and he was trying to distract them from their badly-injured brother. Sneaky, but just one of the many things Dawn loved about him. She relaxed, just a little. If Bobby was being sneaky and distracting them, then he wasn’t really worried. The art of reading Bobby (and her Dad) hadn’t come easy- Dean had taught her what every twitch and casual comment really meant and it had taken years to master. Even now, she sometimes realized she wasn't fluent and relied on Dean to translate. The sick thought that he might not be able to translate man-speak for her ever again made her want to vomit and she forced herself to listen to Bobby instead of think about it.  
  
“Have I ever told you kids” God, she hated that word, “about the Council of Watchers?” Bobby hadn’t, but Dean had and Dawn had been in the Hunt for long enough that she knew exactly who they were. Sam didn’t- he looked confused, and Bobby explained briefly about what a Slayer was and what Watchers did and how he used to be one. He didn’t sound too proud of it, but Sam looked intrigued and Dawn could practically see the wheels turning in his head- an entire organization of people who fought the supernatural bad shit?   
  
They’d hadn’t intentionally chosen to not tell Sam when the Council expansion happened, years before, but there had been an unspoken understanding between the remaining Winchesters that Sam just didn’t need to know. They were half-convinced he’d use their existence to leave Hunting behind him forever and half-afraid he’d join them. Dawn wasn’t sure which would have been worse. Bobby had always been dead set against sending children out to fight an adult’s war (he’d certainly fought with John Winchester about it more than once) and he saw the Council as the worst offenders because they’d been doing it for centuries.   
  
Dawn hadn’t given it much thought but she was pretty sure she agreed. At least, she had agreed, right up until Dean had needed three pints of blood to stay alive and Dawn was pretty sure that she’d have bled the girl dry herself if she’d had to, to save her brother. A dark thought; one she wasn’t proud of, but she was at least honest enough with herself to know it was true. If she had to, she’d do whatever she had to do to keep her family together. That the girl- Faith, Bobby said- was a Slayer just meant that she would recover faster and the darkest part of Dawn couldn’t help but be grateful, because if they needed more blood for Dean, the girl would have recovered enough to give it.   
  
“What was she in prison for the first time?” Sam’s questions cut through her thoughts and she knew she’d missed something. Prison?   
  
“None of your business, boy. She’s served her time and she just saved your brother’s life. That’s good enough for me.” Dawn’s eyes flickered back to the sleeping woman, reconsidering the stranger. Slayers were supposed to be the good guys; the heroes. But then, Slayers weren’t exactly easy to imprison either, and if the girl had been a threat to them, she’d hardly have opened a vein for Dean and left herself unconscious and surrounded. Plus, Bobby sounded convinced and he had yet to lead her wrong. Hell, Bobby was on the short list of people that John Winchester trusted and there was no greater accolade in Dawn’s eyes.   
  
Sam asked a few more questions but Dawn turned her attention to her beer, raising the bottle to her lips and drinking half of it down. No doubt about it, this was the perfect time for drinking. A lot. She wondered, briefly, if she should call their Dad and let him know that Dean was hurt but decided against it- there was nothing John Winchester could do about it. He was a thousand miles away investigating a haunting and he’d be pissed if he dropped everything and came running only to find that Dean was fine. She’d wait till morning and if he wasn’t awake, then she’d call. Dad would be pissed, but Dean would actually kill her- he kept reminding her that he was twenty-six and all grown up and capable of looking after himself, and her, and then he did something stupid like get stabbed and bleed all over her and she was forced to remember that he could be hurt. He could die.   
  
Tears stabbed at her eyes and she forced them back, drowning the emotion in beer and the sound of Sam’s voice. Sometime during her third beer (and she was definitely a three-beer limit kind of girl) Bobby and Sam moved Dean upstairs to the bed, after Sam convinced the elder Hunter that Dean needed a proper bed to recover in. The thought made Dawn snigger. When in hell had Dean ever needed a proper bed? Sam had been away too long, she thought. He’d begun to think like a civilian and she couldn’t help but look at him strangely; differently. When he questioned her gaze, she passed it off as being fascinated by his girl-hair, and then they both watched, amused, as Bobby lifted the Slayer and carried her up the stairs, too, complaining all the way that she was skinny for his liking; too pale; too heavy; wearing too much make-up.  
  
Faith had saved Dean’s life. There was no question about it. But in that moment, seeing Bobby holding the girl in his arms and carrying her as gently as he handled his precious books, she suddenly realized that the old man wasn’t just harboring a hunter who needed to hide for a while. He liked the girl. He was worried about her. He refused to tell Sam anything about her not because he was worried they’d fight, but because he was protecting whatever secrets it was the girl had.   
  
He was treating her as if she were one of them; like she was one of the Winchester children that he’d unofficially adopted as his family years before. Startled, Dawn sat back in her chair.  
  
“She’s family.” She blurted out. Sam, who had been searching his pockets for his cell, glanced up with a grin.  
  
“You’re just realizing this now? Bobby let her stay in his house.” He said it as though that were all he’d need to say on the matter and, really, it was. Bobby let a stranger stay in his house. He let a Slayer stay in his house, despite wanting nothing more to do with the Council. And she was comfortable there- she’d been barefoot when they arrived, lounging around in sweats and a hoodie and Dawn hadn’t even noticed and now, looking around, Dawn could see signs of the other woman around the kitchen- cereals that Bobby would never eat; tea where he only drank coffee and a pack of cigarettes on top of the fridge.   
  
“Huh. If she hurts him, I’ll kick her ass, Slayer or not.” Sam laughed and laughed and Dawn was pretty sure she was the only one who would have noticed the slightly hysterical tinge to it. Seems she wasn’t the only one freaking out about Dean, after all.   
  
“He’ll be okay, won’t he? I mean… we were right to bring him here and not to the hospital?” Across the kitchen table, Sam met her gaze.   
  
“Bobby fixed him up and the bleeding stopped. All he has to do now is wake up.” He tried to force an optimistic grin but it didn’t really work. “Besides, Dean hates hospitals.” That much was true.  
  
He’d be fine; he’d wake up and he would get better and they’d take a break from Hunting for a while and maybe go to Disneyland, instead. Or the Grand Canyon. Or both, maybe.   
  
He'd be _fine_.


	11. Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's confusing real life with porn again...

Dean rose to the surface of consciousness like a diver to the surface of deep water. Awareness crept into the edges of his mind and the first thing he noticed was that his stomach muscles felt like they’d been shredded. Possibly because they had, he realized, remembering the white-hot pain of the demon’s knife sliding into his body. Still, all things considered, he didn’t feel too bad. Shifting carefully, he realized he was in a bed, propped on a pile of pillows and he wasn’t alone.  
  
There was a warm body beside him, one that smelled decidedly feminine. Forcing his eyes open, he fully expected to find Dawn, curled like a kitten against his side. It wouldn’t be the first time. If any of them were seriously hurt, they could just resign themselves to the fact that Dawn would be gluing herself to their side until they were back on their feet. The brunette lounging beside him, however, was so very _not_ his little sister.  
  
Shapely legs were bared by a pair of silky black shorts, slit high on the sides to show a few extra inches of evenly tanned skin. An ample chest strained the white tank top until it was almost sheer and chestnut waves tumbled over her shoulders and across his chest. Her arm was twined with his, he realized, because they had matching needles taped into their arms and a short tube stretching between them. There was a clamp on the tube at each end, stopping the flow of blood, but he was betting she’d donated quite a bit last night to keep him alive. A glance around him told him that he was in Bobby’s guest room, so he figured whoever she was, she wasn’t a bad guy, or she wouldn’t have made it through the gauntlet of charms and symbols in Bobby’s house.  
  
“Like what you see, Dean?” came a husky voice and Dean looked up. She swept the hair from her face and he got a look at whiskey brown eyes, high cheekbones and a full mouth, twisted into a little smirk. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask where Sam and Dawn were, but the curve of those lips was a little distracting.  
  
“Well, I’m not complaining,” Dean conceded and she chuckled, softly.  
  
“Good answer. I’m Faith,” she said. “Figure since you’re carrying a few pints of me around inside you, we aughtta be on a first name basis.”  
  
Dean winced, then couldn’t help but grin.  
  
“That sounded a little on the naughty side, Faith.”  
  
“Did it now?” she asked, laughter shining in her eyes.  
  
Dean shifted, carefully on the bed, suddenly aware that under the sheet that was wrapped around his waist, he was wearing only his boxer briefs. She caught the flicker of expression on his face.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
A raised eyebrow made her smile and she stretched, arching her back, her breast brushing against his arm.  
  
“In that case, I’m thinking you’re feeling better. Blood flowing in all the… necessary places,” she said with a smirk. “We can probably take the IV out now.”  
  
“You gonna take it out? Wow, Faith, we sleep together and now you’re going to play nurse for me?” he teased.  
  
“Dean, you’re confusing real life with porn again,” came another voice from the doorway and Dean turned to see Dawn, leaning on the doorjamb with a smile on her lips and relief in her eyes.  
  
“Dawn,” he said, trying to sit up, but giving up when white-hot pain ripped through his stomach.  
  
Dawn was through the door and at his side in an instant, a hand on his chest holding him down on the pillows.  
  
“Chill out, Winchester. She’s fine,” Faith murmured, still lying beside him and he thought he felt her hand squeeze his forearm, once before it disappeared and he focused on Dawn’s face above him.  
  
“Don’t sit up, Dean! Dammit, it took Bobby forever to stitch you up and he’ll be pissed if you rip them out,” Dawn told him and Dean thought he heard tears in her voice.  
  
“You’re okay?” he asked, searching her face, eyes raking over her, looking for injuries.  
  
“I’m fine. Sam’s fine too,” she said, as he opened his mouth to ask. “He’s downstairs with Bobby.”  
  
“Alright, then get this needle out of my arm and gimme some pants,” Dean told her and Faith snorted beside him. Dawn just rolled her eyes.  
  
“Dean, you’re not getting up,” Dawn said. “The world will not end if you spend a day or two healing. Not today anyway,” she amended.  
  
~*~  
  
Faith watched Dawn interact with Dean, the sure, confident way she moved, checking his wound, smoothly drawing the IV from his arm. Faith pulled her own out, observing the absolute devotion in Dawn’s wide blue eyes as she looked at her brother. She’d seen it the night before as well, when Dawn had looked up at Sam, that clear bond between them.  
  
This Dawn was a whole different animal than the teenager she’d known in Sunnydale. Dawn Summers had been sweet and cute and a little bit spoiled. She’d also been grossly coddled and protected by Buffy and her friends. She would’ve possibly grown out of all of that, given a chance, but as long as Buffy was keeping her locked away from the danger, it was never going to happen.  
  
Dawn Winchester was a confident young woman, sure of herself, strong and obviously content. She had a few faint scars that hadn’t been there in her past life, but she didn’t seem any worse for wear. Faith didn’t remember ever seeing that look in Dawn’s eyes when she was with Buffy, that loyalty, love and absolute surety that the entire world revolved around Dean and Sam Winchester. For so long, Faith had wondered if Buffy had made the right decision, agreeing to the spell that wiped her sister from their lives. Now, she was going to have to say that giving Dawn to the Winchesters was the best thing that had ever happened to the Key.


	12. Here I Am, On The Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all

  
“Dean, if you don’t sit down, I’m going to kill you.”   
  
Dawn pointed at the sofa without looking up from her book. At her shoulder, her brother groaned and shuffled backward a few steps and she grinned as she heard him ease back down onto the sofa. He was still healing and he’d already driven Bobby and Sam away with his complaining- the other two men were in the yard, ‘catching up’. Ha. They’d both come close to caving in to Dean’s demands and they’d fled before she threw them out.   
  
“I’d have to object to that, little D. I don’t give away the good stuff just to see it wasted.”   
  
Dawn liked to tell herself that the only reason Faith could sneak up on her was because she was a Slayer. Thankfully, this time she didn’t jump out of her skin. And she didn’t try to stab the other woman, so that was an improvement. The Slayer was leaning against the doorframe, smirking. Dawn didn’t even have to look up to see it- she could hear it in her tone.   
  
“Tell that to Dean.” She turned a page, focusing on the words instead of the Slayer. “And don’t call me little D.” She'd finally realized why Sam hated being called Sammy- nicknames sucked.   
  
“C’mon kid- take a break. I’ll watch the prisoner.”   
  
That made her glance up, eyes narrowed. If Faith thought for a second that she didn’t know exactly what the other woman was up to, she was sadly mistaken. Dean wasn’t complaining, though, and he was a grown man- there was nothing she could do to dissuade his interest. Hell, she wouldn’t even consider trying. She’d leave that to Bobby and his shotgun, though he didn’t seem to be too concerned. Dean, of course, was just intrigued by the idea of a super-powered hot chick.   
  
She nodded and slammed her book shut with a little too much force before leaving, glancing over at Dean only once. She caught his amusement though and realized that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She had the grace to blush, but not where he could see her- she couldn’t give him that kind of satisfaction. She wasn’t jealous. It wasn’t jealousy. She just wasn’t used to sharing any of the men in her life with another woman- Jess didn’t count, because Jess didn’t know the truth; Jess wasn’t staying with Bobby and showing no signs of ever leaving.   
  
She was aware of how childish and petty it was, but she was still half-hoping that Dad would call and they’d have to leave the woman here before Dean was physically able to do, uh, anything. Why did the first girl to realize how awesome her brother was have to be a super-hot, super-powered, super-cool Slayer? And that Cassie chick definitely didn’t count because she’d thought he was crazy and broken his heart and if Dawn ever met her in a dark alley, she’d prove that the supernatural existed, alright, right in the girl’s face with her fist. So, okay, maybe a girl who didn’t think he was crazy and who understood that Dean was awesome and that the Hunt would always come first was, like, a Godsend or something but that didn’t mean that Dawn had to like her or anything, right?  
  
She grumbled to herself as she climbed the stairs, listening to her brother’s laugh and Faith’s sultry drawl and felt like kicking something; felt more childish than she had when she was a child, in fact. Maybe her teenage rebellion had been delayed by the oddness of her upbringing and was now emerging in some pseudo-jealous reaction to her brother’s new (maybe) girlfriend? EW. Gross. She spent a lot of time with Dean, sure, but not like that. She shook her head to clear the thought, resolving to push her annoyance away and get to know the woman. She was supposed to be the open-minded one and Dean was supposed to be needlessly judgmental. Had her brother really softened so much that simply saving his life once got you on his ‘friend’ list? And not even really saving his life- donating bodily fluids after the fact shouldn’t count. Plus, Faith was a total skank, Dawn could tell. She’d have to insist that Dean get screened for STDs because she was not traveling in a car with Gonorrhea or worse.   
  
And oh, God, she needed to get her own life if all her time was being spent wondering about when Dean was going to get groiny with Faith. And who the hell said ‘groiny’ like it was a word, anyway? Dawn made a face, stepped into the bathroom and resolved to try harder. She was a grown woman; a badass hunter and a Winchester to boot. She suppressed a scream of utter frustration and turned the water to scalding- even if it took an entire layer of skin, she was going to scrub off any thought of her brother getting groiny with anyone.   
  
“I don’t think your sister likes me much.”   
  
Faith commented, once she was sure that the girl was safely out of earshot. She crossed the room to sit opposite Dean where he reclined on the sofa. He was wincing less than he had been the day before and she knew he’d already begun rejecting the pain meds. He was healing quickly, for a norm, and had a tolerance for pain that even the Slayer admired. He grinned and she felt suddenly self-conscious.   
  
“She doesn’t even know you.”   
  
Neither do you, Faith thought, even as she struggled to not return his smile. There was something about the guy that just made her want to grin, and it was just how insanely hot he was, even injured and grumpy. And jeez, he was insanely hot.   
  
“But mostly, she’s feeling territorial and trapped. We’re not used to sticking around anywhere for so long.”   
  
For so long? They’d been stationed at Bobby’s for less than a week and today was the first day Dean was allowed out of bed. She’d thought she was a wanderer, but wow, she really was a novice at it. “I bet you ten bucks that the second we say we’re leaving, she’ll take you out drinking.” Faith refused the bet- the guy knew his siblings way too well and she liked her money right where it was.   
  
“Where you heading next?”   
  
She loved Bobby, she really did, but she would be sad to see the Winchesters leave. Plus, Dawn- there was a voice inside screaming at her that the Key would be her way back in with the Council, regardless of what they thought she’d done.   
  
“There’s a haunting in Wyoming that Dad sent on, but Dawn and Sam are being little bitches about it.” Dawn wasn’t the only one who was feeling trapped, Faith could tell.   
  
“You know they thought you were gonna die, right? That’s not something you forget right away.”   
  
He made a face, but acknowledged her words with a quick dip of his head.   
  
“That’s no reason to call Dad and squeal. We could have gone- they can handle the salt and burn and I’ll sit back and relax.”   
  
She saw it, then, the slight twitchiness in his hands and one foot tapping out a rhythm on the floor. He wasn’t wearing any socks and for a second, she wondered how he’d react if she just started sucking on one of his toes and oh, God, she needed to get laid. It had been way too long if one pretty boy’s foot was turning her to jelly. And Dean needed to be on the road; on the Hunt. She’d never met a norm that was so tuned to it, before. Even Robin, who’d been raised by watchers and was the son of a Slayer, was more of a settle-down-raise-a-family kind of guy but the Winchesters. They were born fighters- even Sam though he tried his best to pretend he wasn’t.   
  
“Yeah. You’d relax, I’m sure. From the edge of the graveyard, leaning on a shovel, maybe.” He conceded the point with a laugh and then winced because laughing kind of hurt.   
  
“You could always come along and keep me company. I’d even let you borrow my shovel.”   
  
He wasn’t really serious, she could tell. He was offering idly, not expecting her to take him up on it. But Dawn… if it wasn’t for Dawn, she’d probably have stayed with Bobby and scratched her itch on one of the local boys. But the Key was the closest thing she had to a mission- Dawn could have been her sister, if she hadn’t been a screw up, and Buffy would forgive her almost anything if she had information to offer on little sister. Forgive her long enough to get an explanation out about the shifter, anyway, and that would have to be enough. She didn’t answer quickly enough and Dean stared at her with curious eyes.  
  
“You don’t think Dawnie would go apeshit about having me along for the ride?”   
  
She could see him thinking about it; it was written all over his face as he weighed the pros and cons. Not for the first time, the playboy charm dropped and she could see the Hunter beneath the surface, assessing her.   
  
“I think that if I let her drive the first few hundred miles, she’ll be happy to forget you’re even there.” Letting Dawn drive was an empty victory, because he was injured and couldn’t anyway but his sister wouldn’t care about that. She’d get to drive. Sam might not understand the lure, but the littlest Winchester certainly did. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Get your stuff- weapons in the trunk, bags in the back. No more than one duffel because we don’t have space for anything else.” When her face split with a grin, he realized just how important it was for her to get back on the road, too. If he’d been going crazy after less than a week, how much she feel, trapped here for almost a month?  
  
“Sweet. You won’t regret this, Dean-o, I swear.”   
  
She bounced across the room and flopped onto the sofa next to him, careful not to jostle him, and kissed him on the cheek. She hadn’t kissed anyone on the cheek since, maybe, Giles when she was leaving Cleveland and look how well that turned out. Lucky for her, Dean turned his head a little and she could feel his breath on her neck and his two-day stubble rub off her cheek and he whispered in her ear that he’d even show her how to use his shotgun, if she wanted. She laughed and hopped back off the sofa.   
  
“There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I’ve got to pack- you can break the news to Dawn and Bobby.”   
  
She was laughing as she left the house, heart light for the first time in weeks. She had a fight to fight and a Key to protect and a pretty, pretty man to play with. Catching sight of Bobby across the yard, she grinned- and she had a grumpy uncle to come home to, if she wanted.   
  
Ten minutes later, Sam opened the trunk of the Impala and the neatly ordered arsenal gleamed up at her and Faith fell in love. Oh yeah, these guys were warrior-born, and she thought she could get used to it.   
  
~*~  
  
Alexandria, South Dakota* was a Podunk town with a small demon problem. Or at least, it had been. The demons had been taken care of by someone, their vessels left lying on a warehouse floor, surrounded by sticky, dried puddles of blood. The bodies were bloated, had been dead for a while by then, the stench of rot infused with the sickening smell of sulfur. Holtz had told him about them; these demons that escape hell and return to earth to wreak havoc and destruction. But they were supposed to be rare, and difficult to track. Certainly, he'd never seen one before, and he hadn't expected to catch their scent in the backwoods of South Dakota. But then, he didn't know much about the First Evil, either, so he had no idea what toys it might like to play with. Connor knelt near the largest puddle, the only one without a body to go with it and drew a deep breath, scenting the blood, the air. He smelled Sam Winchester here and Dawn, but the blood hadn’t been either of theirs. It was different, yet familiar, which meant it probably belonged to the brother, Dean. Under it all, the sulfur smell burned his nose.  
  
He’d followed the signal from Sam’s phone, even after it blinked out, to the warehouse, where he found the broken remains, plastic shards and cracked screen, kicked under some crates. Apparently, the fight had been a rough one and Sam had been directly involved. Wondering what kind of connection Sam had to the demons and/or the people who’d killed them, Connor continued his trek through the warehouse. A quick dip into the local police station’s database from an anonymous library computer earlier that day had shown Connor the report of a girl gone missing and the young woman he’d found down the hall fit her description. The warehouse stank of sulfur, death and Winchesters and it was the Destroyer inside him that remained cold and unaffected as he turned away from the bodies and stepped outside, into the cool afternoon.  
  
Getting into his car, Connor rolled down the window and sat for a moment, flicking through the ideas in his head, trying to decide how he was going to find Sam and his siblings. A deep breath had the hunter rising to the surface again as the blood scent invaded his nostrils. Disbelief made him pause, some human part of his mind asking_ “is this really happening?” _as he realized he could track the Winchesters by following the smell of their blood. Gritting his teeth, willing himself not to freak out, Connor sighed and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, headed east, toward Sioux Falls and the smell of bleeding Winchesters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> *Alexandria, South Dakota is a real town, though we've taken some literary license with the size of the town, whether or not is has a hospital in it and exactly how far from Sioux Falls it really is


	13. Friend, or just Friendly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby's a little suspicious of Sam's "friend from school"

Dean would have been happy to leave the digging to the twins and be the one holding the shotgun. He was decidedly not happy to be the one left in the motel room as the twins took Faith on her first salt and burn. By the time they got back, battered, bruised and tired; he had already done the laundry, cleaned the guns and repacked the car. A good patient, he was not. He wasn’t particularly good at laundry, either, but it served them all right if everything they owned turned pink and shrank. Especially Sam, the giant girl.   
  
Dawn took one look at him, hobbling around his motel room and went straight to her room. Sam sighed, checked his bandages and headed for the shower. Faith, who was covered in the most dirt but was the least tired, had laughed and asked him if he wanted to join her on a quick sweep of the town. She wasn’t expecting to face anything more dangerous than an escaped puppy, anyway.  
  
“Hell yes. Anything to get out of this tiny room.” He shouted at Sam over the running water and armed up, despite the fact that he felt about as strong as a week-old kitten. Anything that attacked him tonight would have an easy fight of it- as soon as it got past Faith, of course. And Dean had it on the best authority - Bobby's- that getting past Faith would be really, really tough. Bobby had vouched for her; sworn blind that she could be trusted, so Dean would have no problem rubbing it in the man's face if she got trounced in a fight. He was just petty like that.  
  
“So, how’d it go?” Despite her years as a Slayer, she’d never faced a vengeful spirit before and Slayer strength and reflexes made no difference in a fight against a ghost. She recovered faster, sure, but she couldn’t hurt them any worse than a regular girl.  
  
“It sucked and was great in equal parts. Sucked, because being thrown around a cemetery by an invisible-something is pretty shitty but it was great to get back into the game, ya know?” He knew; he definitely knew.   
  
“No trouble? We definitely got our girl?” Suzanne Jenkins had been a high-school English teacher, raped and stabbed to death fifteen years previously. Her spirit had decided that any guy with wandering hands deserved a nasty fate. Some of her victims might have deserved it and some were jerks, sure, but they weren’t rapists.   
  
“Oh, yeah. We got her alright. Freaky shit.” She’d never seen a ghost so riled up before. Freaky, creepy fucker that she was. “Remind me again why I decided traveling with you guys would be a good thing?”   
  
“Because I make you weak at the knees.” His thousand-watt grin certainly did.   
  
“Only because I was donating blood, dumbass.” But she linked her arm through his and grinned back, wondering briefly how long it would be before he was, uh, back in the field, so to speak. She tried to clear her mind of all naughty thoughts, banishing his smile and the warmth of his arm in hers to the recesses of her unconscious; refusing to remember the hours spent talking and laughing in the backseat of the Impala. He wasn’t for her to have. The mission was Dawn; the key.  
  
“Other than the freaky ghost, it was good?” She knew what he was getting at. Was she able to work with Sam and Dawn without him there as a buffer?   
  
“Yeah, it’s cool. Little D and I have come to appreciate one another,” There had been a bottle of JD involved in their ‘appreciation’ and for once, the Slayer had found herself matched shot for shot by a regular girl. Or a regular mystical key, anyway. Oddly, being able to out-drink the Slayer had restored some semblance of confidence to Dawn and the girl had become much more tolerant. Faith was pretty sure that she’d confessed some pretty embarrassing fluffy-girl-thoughts to the young Hunter that accounted for the change of tune but she was too afraid to ask. If she didn’t ask then she wouldn’t know and if she didn’t know, then it didn’t happen. End of. “And your boy Sam knows how to handle himself, for a civilian.” Dean muttered something about Sam not being a civilian but Faith was pretty sure you couldn’t retire at eighteen so that made the kid a civvy.  
  
“So you think you’ll be sticking around a while?” Internally, she whooped with glee. She needed Dean on-side if she had any chance of sticking with the Winchesters. Dean was the lynch-pin- she’d seen that straight away. Dawn and Sam might talk big about independence and being their own people or some shit, but when it came right down to it, Dean made the decisions and they fell in line, trusting him to make the right ones.   
  
She squeezed his arm, a little, and ignored the increase in her heart rate when he slipped his hand into hers.   
  
“I don’t think I’m ready to leave, just yet.” She didn’t see him smiling- lucky, because if she had, she might have even felt guilty.  
  


  
Sweltering evening heat meant that Bobby’s shirt was sticking to his skin by the time he went inside. The phones had been quiet all day so he had been working in the garage, piddling away at rebuilding bits of cars that might some day run again. It was time for a beer and a check over the day’s papers for anything that might smell of a hunt.   
  
And it was time to see if the boy was still there- the one who was hiding in his yard, watching him. Bobby wasn’t sure how long the kid had been there (kid, but still twenty two or three, maybe) but he’d noticed him two nights before. None of the wards had tripped and none of the devil’s traps buried around the yard had snared him, so whatever or whoever the kid was, he wasn’t evil. Or he wasn’t any kind of evil Bobby recognized; the Hunter wouldn’t make that decision until he saw the kid up close, under a fountain of blessed water. He’d been difficult to spot, too- anyone who hadn’t spent the years watching for things that shouldn’t be there, like Bobby had, wouldn’t have even noticed him. But Hunters learned to tell when they were being watched. If they didn’t, they died and their bodies were salted and burned by whatever Hunter came along to finish the job.   
  
He watched through the kitchen window as he washed his hands, scanning the yard for movement; signs of life in the heaps of rusted metal and wished, not for the first time, that he’d actually gotten another dog after Churchill died. He resolved to swing by the pound the next day and bring home a pup- no use thinking of it when it was too late and there was already a squatter living in his yard, but better late than never. He saw nothing from the kitchen but hit pay dirt from the back porch a few minutes later. Beer in one hand and shotgun in the other, he squinted into the fading light and decided that enough was enough; either this kid showed himself or Bobby was going to start shooting. The kid wouldn’t know the rounds were only rock salt.  
  
“You have three seconds to show yourself, boy, or I’ll take it out of your hide in slices.” Casually, he lifted the beer to his lips and took a drink. “One.”  
  


  
Connor jumped when the junk-man addressed him directly, startled that not only had he been seen but that the man was giving him a warning. He’d been watching for three days and seen no sign of the Winchesters; though their scent was everywhere in the house, but faded as if it had been weeks or more since they had last been here. He’d followed the blood-scent from the warehouse, confused that anyone bleeding so badly wouldn’t go straight to the hospital. But there was no death-stink, so whatever had happened, the other Winchester brother must have been okay. He was lucky it hadn’t rained- he never could have followed them this far if rain had washed out the scent and Sam’s phone had offered a few numbers but nothing he could use to trace them.   
  
There was another, almost familiar, scent in the yard, too. It wasn’t as strong, but not remembering who it belonged to was driving the boy crazy. He’d spent so long ignoring his supernatural half that he had almost forgotten how to use the extra benefits and now when he wanted them (needed them) he was almost overwhelmed.   
  
“Two.” The bearded stranger- Robert Singer, according to the phone book- was drinking beer and toting a shotgun and neither of Connor’s lives had prepared him for what to do in case of rednecks shooting at him. Retreat was an option, sure- his car was parked a few miles up the road and he was sure he could get across the yard before the man could actually make holes in him. He was sure… but the pile of scrap metal he was perched on top of was fragile at best and he didn’t want to fall and die under a rusted heap of Ford because he was out of practice and couldn’t get down safely.   
  
He had to be out of practice. He’d been out of the game too long, is all. There was no other way that some old guy in a junkyard could possibly have caught him. No way, no how.   
  
He made his decision before the guy got to three; standing up slowly from the bed of the truck he had been crouched in; Ford on top of Ford on top of Ford like some fucked up three-tier cake.   
  
“Don’t shoot.” He resisted the urge to add, ‘I come in peace’ to the end of that.  
  
“What are you doing in my yard?” The voice was gruff and unfriendly, but the shotgun wasn’t aimed at him, so Connor counted that as a win. Something told him that telling the truth wouldn’t be a great idea, proving that at least some of his survival instincts lingered.   
  
“I have nowhere else to be.” Technically true, as he was on a ‘road trip’ with no destination in mind. It seemed to be enough to placate the man and the shotgun lowered another inch or two.  
  
“Git down here before you hurt yourself.” And Connor complied, clambering inelegantly down the side of the car mountain and approaching the house warily. “M’name is Bobby and this is my yard. If you want to live in it, you’ll at least have to introduce yourself.” The man handed him a beer bottle, unopened and Connor accepted it gratefully. He had never been much of a drinker, but the evening was warm and he’d been lying in the sun all day. He was sure he smelled pretty rank, too, but had gone beyond the point of being able to smell his own stench.   
  
He uncapped the bottle with a key-ring and took a mouthful, relishing the burn in his throat. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but this stuff tasted okay. Almost like light beer; or as if it had been watered down, or something. He took another drink and the other man seemed to relax a little; the shotgun aimed at the ground, now, and Connor was pretty sure he could cover the distance to grab it before the guy could raise it and shoot him.   
  
“So. What’s your name, boy?” Normally, Connor was annoyed by anyone who called him boy but his survival instincts seemed to be returning in force and he bit back a retort.   
  
“Connor.” He almost choked on the word; he’d come very close to saying Stephen. “Connor Reilly.” He wasn’t afraid of anyone knowing that he was here, so he never even thought to give a fake name. “I’m a friend of Sam Winchester’s and...” Bobby’s eyes narrowed and Connor’s words trailed off. The change in the older man had been instant and the shotgun had been raised again quicker than Connor could have reacted, even if he’d known to.  
  
“How do you know Sam?” If his voice had been gruff before, it was downright gravelly now. Maybe he’d completely misjudged this; maybe this Singer guy wasn’t a friend of Sam’s at all. There had been a lot of blood in that warehouse and none of the Winchesters were here, now. Oh, god. Surely Connor couldn’t have managed to stumble across the only shotgun-wielding serial-killer in the Dakotas? And he’d been drinking the man’s funky beer! He berated himself silently for discounting the old guy as an innocent just because he was human and started planning his escape route.   
  
“I was at Stanford; I just finished my final year and I’ve been on the road for the past few weeks, seeing the country, you know?” The responding glare didn’t relax an inch. “And I know Sam came this way, because I was going to meet up with him in Wyoming but when I got there he was gone and I found his cell phone and traced the last call made to here.” The words came out of him in a rush, half-panic (it wasn’t even faked) and half-defensive. The shotgun relaxed a fraction, again, and Connor let out a breath.   
  
“Stay right here. I’ll make a phone call and if you’re not who you say you are, you’d better be gone from my property before I come back out here.”   
  
He lingered at the bottom of the steps, trying to hear what the man was saying but to no avail. He could hear his voice; knew he was talking to someone, but whatever he was saying was unclear. In the minutes it took the junkman to have his conversation, Connor finished his beer and took a seat, wincing when some of his muscles tensed up and his stomach growled. He hadn’t been eating well, or often. There were too many thoughts in his head to consider eating, or sleeping. If he took the time to rest and eat, he might actually think about what he was doing, too.   
  
He almost jumped when Bobby returned, slamming open the door and glaring at him.   
  
“Here.” The elder man thrust a crumpled sheet of paper under his nose and he took it, wary. “That’s where Sam is. He’ll be there for two days. Now get off my property.” Connor blinked twice and the man disappeared inside.   
  
“Thanks.” He called out, relieved. He hadn’t known if Sam would vouch for him- they were friends, sure, but they weren’t super close or anything. Hell, Connor hadn’t known that Sam had siblings- showing how little he knew about the other student. He read the address on the paper- a motel outside of Fort Collins, Colorado. About six hundred miles, he realized with a wince. He was already sick of driving- two days hiding in a junkyard had been a welcome relief, even in the heat of the South Dakotan summer.   
  
He shoved the paper into his pocket and glanced back at the house once, wondering if he should knock and thank Bobby. In the end, he didn’t, starting off at a jog back to his car instead. He had a target; he had somewhere to aim for. Inside, the turmoil of the Destroyed lessened a little, easing off enough that he could even enjoy the run back to the car.   
  
Back in the junkyard, Bobby pressed the redial button on his phone.   
  
“He’s coming your way. Be careful- there’s something off about this kid.”   
  
“Thanks Bobby. I owe you one.” Across the miles, John Winchester’s voice was even gruffer than usual. Bobby could tell that he hadn’t been sleeping.  
  
“You owe me more than one, idjit. Whatever else you got going on, you keep those kids safe.” Bobby had threatened to shoot him more than once, and they both knew he’d do it, too, if John put any of the kids in danger. They might not be blood, but Bobby loved ‘em just the same. Lucky for John, he was smart enough to know that without being told.  
  
“I’ll check the kid out, Singer. He won’t get anywhere near Sam, whoever or whatever he is.”  
  
The kid couldn’t be normal, he just couldn’t. Only something stupid- or supernatural- would think to admit to tracking another kid using GPS and not bat an eyelid at it, either. Whatever or whoever he was, he was far enough off the reservation that he wasn’t getting anywhere near Sam until he got the John Winchester seal of approval.


	14. Fireworks and Dynamite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best of intentions

Sam set his laptop on the table and sank onto the seat with a sigh. He was bone tired after a day spent driving and an evening spent digging graves and wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower and an early night.

His family had other plans, though, and Dawn hadn’t accepted no for an answer when Dean had suggested drinks. Well, dinner and drinks. Dawn had sent him to get a table and order enough food for a small army and normally, he’d argue, but he was tired already so he staked out the corner booth happily and jacked in to the bar’s wireless internet to check his email.

Dean and Dawn had made a beeline for the pool tables- Dean had promised not to start trouble and Sam knew that the promise was only because his brother wasn’t quite healed up yet. Another few days would see him back in fighting form but until then, he was taking it easy. That meant that they were at the pool tables, practicing trick shots and actually playing against one another for once. Thankfully, not hustling pool meant that there was far less chance of anyone getting pissed off and taking a swing at one, or both, of his siblings. It also meant that their showing off had gathered a small crowd of admirers and that they might leave him alone for longer than five minutes.

The place wasn’t a dive, exactly, but it was the kind of bar that Dean and Dawn slid into effortlessly, but where Sam had always felt out of place. It was dimly lit, crowded and filled with blue-collar workers and heavy drinkers. He was willing to bet that Jess had never even seen a bar like this one, much less spent any time in one. He couldn’t (wouldn’t) ever bring her to a place like this. Dawn could fake normal as well as Sam did- and she did it for him, anytime she slipped away from Dean and John to visit him in California. Dean didn’t even bother, most times, and John… well, his Dad mostly seemed to forget that it was ever necessary.

His hope for peace and quiet was dashed, sort of, when Faith slid into the booth opposite him. He hadn’t really spent much time with the girl- she’d been riding in the back of the car with Dean, where they played stupid car games as he and Dawn did all the driving, and she was sharing a room with Dawn when they stopped at night. He liked her well enough, but he hadn’t spent more than ten minutes alone with her since they’d left Bobby’s. It was weird, having another person in the car. A gorgeous, fun, smart Hunter at that- Sam was glad that Faith had clearly set her sights on his brother because much as he loved Jess and would never dream of cheating on her… Faith was hot, and there was no denying it. So, yeah, the fact that she could be caught staring at Dean anytime he wasn’t looking was a bonus. He wasn’t certain that she knew she was doing it, but he was certain it was happening.

“What’s happening? How’s your girl doing?” Faith gestured idly toward the computer and Sam startled, a little. His email was open on the screen and Jess had sent him a quick message, telling him she loved him and missed him but that her summer was awesome, thanks for asking.

“She’s good. She’s working in Palo Alto this summer, saving up for next year.”

“Dawn says she’s wicked smart, huh? Full ride; open ticket to med school and smokin’ hot, too. Quite the catch, Sammy.” He ducked his head and reddened, forgetting to tell her not to call him Sammy.

“Yeah, she’s awesome. She doesn’t know anything about any of this,” he waved one arm vaguely around the bar, “but she’s really supportive. I wouldn’t get through school without her, that’s for sure.” Faith grinned, meeting his gaze over the table-top even as she waved over a waitress.

“This stuff is either in your bones or it’s not, kid. It’s no slight on her if she doesn’t know what’s really out there.” Sam couldn’t help rolling his eyes and making a face. He wanted normal, he did, but sometimes he had to wonder about all the so-called normal people. How could they be so blind? Faith seemed to know what he was thinking, though, because she laughed and sat back into her seat, relaxing. “I think sometimes you guys forget that most people- myself included- don’t find out about the things that go bump until they’re at least old enough to drive.”

Dean had known all his life, practically. Sam and Dawn had been eight; their life had been messed up, sure, but there had been no fear of the dark until he was eight. He remembered Dean finally telling them the truth- it was Christmas and Dad wasn’t there and Dean had stolen presents to put under their crappy tree. Even at the time, he’d realized that what Dean was doing was above-and-beyond what a big brother should be expected to do, especially when the brother in question was only twelve. The most telling thing, though, was that Sam didn’t remember being surprised. Not really; not the way other kids would have been. He wasn’t scared or worried; Dean would protect them.

“I just don’t get how people can’t see it. This town and all the people here are a perfect example! There was a spirit in this town for months, killing people, and no-one noticed. I can’t imagine ever being so blinkered.” Blinkered wasn’t the word he wanted to use, but he thought calling them all blind might be too harsh.

They ordered, enough food for a small army, and Faith sipped on her beer.

“I feel sorry for them and I’m jealous, too, sometimes. I love what I do; I wouldn’t have it any other way. But, sometimes… it would be nice to have a home.” She met his eyes and he was surprised at the emotion in them. Almost tears. “But the mission is what matters, I guess.”

“Saving people; hunting things.” Sam added and she nodded in agreement, raising her glass in mock toast.

“Saving them from themselves, sometimes, but saving them is the important bit. It took me a while to figure that one out.” She was talking about herself, he knew, but it still felt like she meant it for him. It was nice, having a home for once. Home had always been Dad, Dean, Dawn and the Impala; a trifecta of hunters and a classic car.

“It is nice, having a home.” He wasn’t sure if he meant Jess and their small apartment in Palo Alto or Dean and Dawn, fighting over the break at the pool table.

They were silent for a moment, caught in their own thoughts, until Sam remembered something else he’d wanted to ask the Slayer.

“What exactly are your intentions toward my brother, anyway?” To his amusement- and her horror- she blushed horribly. He almost laughed, but something in the way she glared back at him told him not to. Laughter would be the exact wrong response; he could feel it in his gut. “Because I really don’t want to see him hurt by a girl who thinks he’s just some drifter Hunter, good for nothing but back-up in a fight and a quick roll in the sack.” He’d had this conversation, more than once, with Dawn. They were both concerned that Dean’s growing infatuation with the Slayer wasn’t reciprocated. Not the way he seemed to want, anyway. Neither had the courage to ask Dean about it, though, for fear of their brother’s idea of revenge for forcing chick-flick moments.

“I, uh… what?” She couldn’t believe he’d asked her that, and she couldn’t believe that she didn’t have an answer. Dean was a distraction; a pretty, funny, clever distraction to keep her entertained while she kept an eye on the Key. She might have already realized that the Key didn’t really need her protection but that’s what she was telling herself. That she was also counting the days until Dean would be healed up enough for other kinds of distractions and she hadn’t so much as glanced at another guy since she’d started traveling with the Winchesters were two thing she didn’t want to think about. “I don’t know what you mean. We’re just friends.”

Sam stared at her, not believing a word. “Okay, so maybe I have some lusty feelings but I’m not gonna do anything, okay? I like riding with you guys and I’m not going to Yoko my own gig, okay?”

“Does Dean know that?” Say, what now? Did Dean know what? She asked as much. “Does he know that you’re just leading him on? Because I gotta tell you, that’s pretty low and if that’s what you’re doing, then you’re out.” She felt her stomach clench; she couldn’t be out. She needed to be in, to protect Dawn; to get her life back. Dean was, like, a bonus- a smart, gorgeous guy who liked her and wasn’t afraid because she was stronger than him.

“I’m not leading him anywhere, Sam. He’s a great guy- he’s… he’s kinda wonderful, really, and I wouldn’t do that to him.” She’d been flirting and laughing and talking, and there may have been some touching but… yeah, she’d been leading him to believe something. “He doesn’t deserve my baggage, dude.” That much was true. Quick flings, she could handle, but whatever this thing with the Winchesters was, it wasn’t quick. Getting involved with Dean wouldn’t be a fling, not least because she was half-certain she was already crazy about him. Not that she was ready to admit that.

“So… what, exactly? You’re trying to protect him?” He didn’t sound like he believed her. Hell, she didn’t even believe herself.

“And me from him, maybe.” He looked ready to jump to his brother’s defence, at that, but she rushed an explanation before he could, staring at the wall and not blinking in an effort to get the words out. “I fuck these things up, Sam. I hurt people and break things and I don’t leave anything alive in the wreckage, myself included. Your brother is pretty awesome and…” Whatever she was gonna say next, she didn’t know herself. They were interrupted by Dean and Dawn sliding into the vacant seats in the booth, arguing over who had won their game. Dean sat next to her, the warm expanse of his body pressing close to her own and she met Sam’s amused gaze over the arriving plates of food. Dean, oblivious, hooked his arm over the back of the booth and it brushed off her neck and sent shivers down her spine. She blushed again and Sam raised an eyebrow; almost mocking but with a level of sympathy that she assumed came from always being the one who didn’t feel good enough.

She didn’t relax until after they’d eaten and she’d finished another three beers. She’d stayed quiet through dinner, mulling over Sam’s words and even more- over what he hadn’t said. He hadn’t warned her off; hadn’t told her to stay away from his brother. He’d seemed disappointed when she’d sworn she wouldn’t (couldn’t? shouldn’t?) take that step with Dean. He’d seemed disappointed and her stomach was in knots throughout dinner, thinking about it. She was with them to watch the Key: the mission was what mattered, right? Sam dragged Dawn away to the bar, intent on some girly cocktail, and left her alone with Dean.

When the Hunter took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor, pulling her close and muttering in her ear that he really wanted to start a bar-fight so she’d better keep him distracted, she didn’t protest. He held her close, though she was sure it must be hurting him, and she buried her face in his shoulder; breathing in the now-familiar scent of him. Gun-oil and salt; sweat and kerosene; soap and sulfur. Without thinking, her hands crept under his shirt, dancing over the bandages wrapped around his torso still and resting on the small of his back. His skin was surprisingly soft; hot and smooth under her fingertips. There was a scar, just below his kidney on the left and she found herself wanting to know how it got it.

She kind of wanted to know how he got them all; these scars that littered his body. She knew he had them. Lots of them. The story of his life, painted on his skin in blemishes that he wore as badges of honor. Dean made no apologies for who and what he was- he was a Hunter. The mission was what mattered and he got that in a way that no other guy she’d ever known got it. Not Giles, not Xander, not Robin. Hell, not even Bobby.

She was pretty sure that any of her sisters would kill for the chance to meet someone like him and here she was, fighting herself over it. Fighting and losing, it seemed.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he kissed her, but it still kind of was. She was half-drunk and tense and when he kissed her that all melted away. Any objection she had to doing this just melted away. He was too good for her- a hero the way Buffy was; the way Angel was- and she was spying on him, planning on taking his sister away as her ticket back into her old life. She could only hurt him; could only hurt herself again, like with Robin. But his tongue traced the inside of her mouth and she pulled him closer to her and there was a wall at her back (where had that come from?) and his hands were in her hair. She’d kissed her fair share of men and she’d been pushed against any number of walls over the years- but she couldn’t remember ever feeling so content with someone else’s lips on hers.

She would be bad for him- she had the track record to prove it. She just wasn’t good enough. Everyone she’d ever known had told her that, one way or another. But when he looked at her, she felt… different. Like she could be better than she thought she was. She wanted to be the way he saw her. Strong. Capable. A fighter. Warrior of the People. She was starting to really like the version of herself that she could be when he was around.

It should worry her that she thought she could be happy to have him kiss her forever.


	15. Curiouser and Curiouser...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity is dangerous...

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. It was the thing that made housewives dabble in witchcraft, teenagers summon up demons and every idiot in every horror movie go looking for the monsters in the dark instead of running away. John knew this, had seen it first hand, time and again. Still, he couldn’t help being just a little bit curious about this boy that was looking for his son.

Bobby hadn’t said a lot, just enough to make John worry- and wonder. The kid had pulled into the motel parking lot a full five minutes ago and hadn’t moved from his car. John had the feeling he was studying the place, the cars, windows, potential escape routes… not unlike a hunter might. The idea that someone was hunting his children, that they might know Sam was different made John’s blood run cold. There wasn’t much in this world that scared John Winchester. Losing his kids was on that short list.

The boy, Connor, Bobby had called him, finally got out of the car. At first glance, the slender build, casual clothes and long, slightly messy hair screamed “college guy”. A longer look, however, showed something else entirely. The kid moved with confidence. Not the cockiness of youth, but rather the sure knowledge that whatever was out there, he was bigger and badder. There was an easy grace that said strength in the way he walked and a watchful, knowing glint in his eyes. Bobby’s instincts had been dead on. Connor Reilly was far from the average college student.

~*~

Connor surveyed the cheap motel again, letting his senses seek out whatever they could. He could hear raccoons in the trash behind the office, the sound of a TV playing infomercials and the chainsaw snoring of the night manager. There was a business man in room 3, pacing in front of the window on his cell phone, arguing with his wife while a woman sat on the bed in a leather miniskirt, bustier and knee high boots, looking bored. Room 5 held a young woman and he could hear her murmuring to her little girl to just go to sleep and they’d find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. The desperation in her voice made him wonder what she was running from. He squashed the thought. Unless something or someone tried to kill her while he was standing there, it wasn’t his business, the Destroyer insisted. He already had a mission, prey. Trouble was, there was a distinct lack of Sam’s scent here. Dean hadn’t been here either and Connor had scented enough of that man’s blood to track him through a New York sewer.

The man in room 12 smelled of guns, steel and salt. He was alone, silent, but as he approached, Connor heard his heartbeat speed up, very slightly. Obviously, he was awake and watching. When Connor reached the door, he finally caught a familiar scent. It wasn’t Sam or Dean or Dawn, but whoever it was shared blood with them. He needed to find the Winchester siblings, not a relative, but it was the best connection he had at the moment and Connor knocked on the door.

The man who answered was big, disheveled and radiating suspicion and distrust. He also looked enough like Dean that he had to be their father.

“You Connor?” he said, voice rough, though it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Bobby Singer send someone else this way?” Connor countered, with a raise of the eyebrow.

There was a grunt that could’ve been anything from amusement to annoyance and the man stepped back, opening the door wide. Connor noticed the distinct lack of invitation and bit back a smile. So, Daddy Winchester was going to test him. Connor looked down, then stepped over the line of salt and into the motel room, proving he was neither a vampire nor a demon.

“You gonna pull out the good silver now?” Connor asked.

“If you insist,” Sam’s father said, pulling a shiny silver knife from a sheath at his belt.

Connor held out his forearm, slowly and when he spoke, his tone was casual, but his words were serious.

“You can cut me to test me, but if you try to hurt me, we’re both gonna be bleeding.”

“Fair enough,” came the gruff reply and the knife flashed, leaving a thin, shallow cut on Connor’s arm. The blade was sharp enough that he barely felt it. When there were no screams or sizzling flesh or any other reactions to the silver, Connor saw him sigh, wipe the blade on his jeans and slip the knife back into its sheath.

“Not a demon, vampire or a shifter,” Connor said and that nonspecific grunt came again.

“Doesn’t mean you’re human.”

Connor stared at the man for a moment, wondering what the senior Winchester did during his free time that had him so familiar with the things in the dark.

“No,” he said, finally, “It doesn’t mean I’m human. Not completely anyway.”

“Then what are you?”

“We’d have to be better friends for that,” Connor said. “Wanna start with your name?”

“John Winchester,” he said, after a moment. “What do you want with Sam?”

~*~

.John stared at the wall, feeling like his eyes should be boring a hole right through the plaster. Connor had checked into the next room for the night after a few cryptic comments about needing to talk to Sam. He wouldn’t tell John more than that and it was grating on his nerves. The kid was far too cocky for John’s taste and something about him was off, but for the time being he didn’t seem to be a threat. He’d said he didn’t mean Sam any harm and John believed him. Reading people was an important skill in his line of work and he was a pretty good judge of character. Still, he wasn’t just going to hand his kid over to an unknown person, no matter how much he wanted to find out just what Conner was into. That left only one option. John was going to have to personally take Connor to Sammy, Dean and Dawn.

~*~


	16. When a Tornado Meets a Volcano...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter plus Slayer equals...

~*~

Dean bit back a groan as he dropped his second boot to the floor with a thump. Stripping off his socks seemed to take a monumental effort and he dropped them, along with his shirt, on top of the boots. Every muscle was screaming, demanding he flop back on the bed and sleep, but his mind was going a mile a minute. He knew as soon as he showered, he’d hit his second wind and be unable to rest. He needed action, stimulation, in short, a bar with good music, cheap whiskey and hot women. With that goal firmly in mind, he got up and headed for the bathroom, where he could hear the shower running. Opening the door, Dean started to yell for Sammy to hurry the hell up but stopped, the words stuck in his throat.

Dean knew there was probably a lot about Sam that he didn’t know. He was, however, fairly certain that he’d have noticed if his little brother was into wearing dainty black lace bras and matching thong panties like the ones hanging over the edge of the sink. He was also pretty sure Sam wouldn’t look even a little bit hot through a clear plastic shower curtain. The figure in front of him had curves in all the right places and made his gut go tight. Slowly, he took a step into the room and saw her turn, pulling back the curtain to stare at him.

Faith’s dark hair was plastered to her head, a smooth sheet over her neck and down her back and water droplets traced eye-catching paths across her skin.

“You’re not Sam,” he said, unnecessarily. She gave him an amused smile.

“So glad you noticed.”

“Why are you in my shower?” Dean asked.

“Dawn’s taking forever to get the demon goo out of her hair and Sam gave me his key,” she said, with a shrug of one of those naked shoulders.

“Right,” he said, distracted by a brave little water drop that was making it’s way over her chest to disappear behind the shower curtain.

“Dean,” she said and he blinked. “I said, were you going to take a shower?”

“Um, yeah, I’ll just wait out here while you finish,” he told her, starting to back away.

“Or, you could shut up, get naked and get in here,” she suggested.

~*~

It wasn’t intentional. Truly, Faith had done everything she knew to keep herself away from Dean Winchester after that soul stealing kiss at the bar a while back. Despite the way her fingers itched to touch him and her body screamed to be pressed against his, she’d resisted, admirably, she thought. However, when the man walked in on her shower, half naked himself, well, what exactly was a Slayer to do?

She watched through the clear plastic curtain as he took off his jeans and her eyes followed every movement as he crossed the small bathroom. She decided, when he stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed, that the reality of him far surpassed any imagined fantasy pictures she might’ve come up with in her head.

Dean didn’t waste time once he was under the spray. Work roughened hands caught her waist and yanked her close and then his mouth was on hers. Rational thought ceased to exist. Dawn, monsters, magic, all of it went out the window and out of her head with his kiss and before she realized it, Faith’s fingers were clenched in his hair and she was kissing him back for all she was worth.

Faith had no idea how much Dean knew about Slayers. Women, though, he knew well. He played her body like an instrument, hands, mouth, flesh on flesh. Her back hit the wall, not exactly painfully, but hard enough to send a spark of excitement through her. A gasp left her throat and then her breast was in his mouth and the gasp turned into a moan.

She was strong and the edge of roughness he used said he remembered it. His fingers were gentle, though, when he touched her, stroked her, then slipped inside. Her back arched, instinctively, hips bucking against his hand and she felt his lips brush her ear when he whispered, “Let me in.”

Faith’s legs slid around his waist, almost of their own accord. She had a split second to feel the blunt tip of his arousal pressing against her and then he was pushing inside, filling her and a harsh shout left her throat before she could stop it. He froze, buried to the hilt, cords in his neck and shoulders taut with strain.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, breathing raggedly.

“No,” she managed.

“Y’sure? Need to stop?” he asked and she knew, despite the trouble he was having even being still, that he would stop, if she wanted. It did something scary to her insides to realize it.

“You stop and I’ll kill you,” she promised, finally, tightening her legs around his waist.

His response was to grasp her hips and use the wall for leverage as he pulled back, then thrust deep. Faith reached behind her, found the towel bar on the wall and held on tight as he drove into her, sending her nerve endings into sparks of nirvana with each thrust.

She lost track of time after that. What began in the shower ended on the bed in a sweaty, blankets on the floor, sheets twisted and tangled mess. Faith could hear the heavy pounding of Dean’s heart under her ear and she closed her eyes. She was loving the languid, boneless feeling of her body, the total relaxation. At the same time, she was mentally kicking herself for giving in and sleeping with Dean Winchester, because no matter what she did from here, nothing would ever be the same. She knew she’d never be able to put the distance between herself and Dean again, she didn’t have that kind of willpower. The last thought she had before slipping into dreams was to wonder if he’d still hold her this way once he knew the truth about Dawn.

~*~

John would never be okay with seeing his baby girl in tight black leather, he decided, staring. Every fiber of his overprotective being was screaming at him to wrap her in a damn blanket and hide her from the world. Still, he had to admit she moved in them like they were a second skin, the red tank top setting off her pale skin in the darkness as she fought beside another girl. This one was brunette as well and also dressed in painted on leather, obviously a bad influence on Dawn’s wardrobe. The new girl had to be Faith, the Slayer Bobby had all but adopted. She fought like a dancer, all grace and power, that leather hugging some serious curves, hair flying into dark eyes and a grin on her face that said she’d been born to do this and John wondered how long it had taken Dean to fall into bed with her.

As he thought it, his oldest son came scrambling over the low wall that surrounded the cemetery, landing in a roll and getting quickly to his feet. Sam came right behind him, slightly more graceful due to longer legs and the two of them reached the girls as Faith drove a stake into the last vampire’s chest. It dusted and John heard a throaty chuckle.

“That never gets old,” Faith said and Dawn grinned at her, then looked at her brothers.

“How’d you two do?”

“Three vamps, hiding in a crypt. It looked like they’d been living there,” Sam said and then went still as his gaze landed on John, standing about thirty yards away, leaning on a concrete angel.

“Dad?”

Dawn reached him first, long legs and enthusiasm putting her far ahead of the others. Because she was the girl, she got to run to her father and throw her arms around him without damaging her manly image and John couldn’t help but smile against her hair as he hugged her close. The others followed, with less squealing and grinning and Dawn pulled back, stepping aside for her brothers to greet their father. There was some handshaking and slightly awkward guy-style half hugs and shoulder slapping and then John looked at the Slayer, standing back, apart from the others, hands casually in her back pockets. She was watching, studying him and John couldn’t help the feeling that she was sizing him up, as if measuring his worth.

“You must be Faith,” he said and she nodded, pulling one hand from her back pocket and reaching out to shake. It was second nature to John to put some pressure into it, a test or challenge, but he resisted. She wasn’t an enemy, that he knew of. Also, he was pretty sure she could crush his hand.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Sam blurted out.

“Not that we aren’t glad to see you,” Dawn added, with an eye-roll. “But yeah, what gives?”

“What do you know about a kid named Connor Reilly?” John asked.

~*~


	17. Open Your Eyes, Understand it Isn't Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shattering illusions

Faith’s head spun at the name and she bit her tongue to keep from cursing aloud. Connor Reilly. No way it was a coincidence, Connor just wasn’t that common of a name. Angel’s son, tracking down the Winchesters, who just happened to have Dawn? No way that was accidental.

Connor had to have broken his spell, remembered his past. Thing was, Connor’s past had driven him insane once already. What had it done to him this time?

A flicker of recognition in those blue eyes told Faith she’d been right. Connor, sitting on the hood of an older Honda in the cemetery parking lot, knew exactly who she was. He got to his feet as they approached.

“Connor, what are you doing here?” Sam asked, sounding nervous and Faith realized he was about to have his cover as Joe Regular blown all to hell. He had no idea who- or what- Connor really was.

~*~

Connor got to his feet, staring at Faith for a moment, surprised to see her, but even more shocked at the gut wrenching feeling of recognition as his senses kicked into overdrive. Whatever demon essence made him the Destroyer, it recognized itself in the Slayer and Connor had to wonder if it was the same power all together. It took him a moment to register that Sam was talking to him and Connor looked at him, snapping back into focus.

“Connor, what are you doing here?” Sam was asking.

“Looking for you,” he said, giving Sam a casual smile, out of habit. He was so used to playing normal that it came as second nature now.

“Cut the shit, kid,” John snapped. “You tracked them to Bobby’s, then drove across three states to find me, all because you needed to talk to Sam. Well, there he is, talk to him!”

Connor looked around. John Winchester looked pissed, Sam looked confused. Faith’s expression was guarded and Dean and Dawn were eyeing him curiously. Connor heaved a sigh and sat back on his car, heavily.

“So,” he began, slowly. “Few years back there was this demon-vampire apocalypse thing.”

Dawn’s sharp intake of breath was audible and Connor could feel their stares as he talked.

“The Slayer, the other one, Buffy, she had a sister, one that used to be a magical Key to open portals between dimensions. Angel, the vampire with a soul, he had a son who was prophesied to be the Destroyer of Worlds. The two of them, Buffy and Angel, I mean, they made a deal with some high level demons and cast a spell to protect the Key and Destroyer. They erased the two of them from their lives, gave them new families, histories, memories, everything. To everyone but a select few, Angel never had a son and Buffy never had a sister. Instead, the Reilly’s had a baby boy and you, Sam, got a sister,” he finished, looking at Dawn. She’d gone pale and had a white-knuckled grip on Dean’s arm.

Sam’s voice was unsteady when he spoke.

“Are you trying to say that Dawn isn’t my sister?”

“Sure she is,” Connor sighed. “DNA will prove it. She’s your twin. She just… wasn’t always.”

“And if this crazy shit were even a little bit true, which is fucking ridiculous, suppose you tell us how you know all this, with the spell and all?” John demanded.

“Long story short? Another apocalypse and a crash course in my own life. Once we know about it, the spell sort of cracks for us and we start to get glimpses of our other lives, to remember.”

“You’re crazy,” Dawn said, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I wish,” Connor told her, feeling his gut tighten when tears slipped down her face.

~*~

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife as Sam, Dean, Dawn and Faith headed back for their motel on foot. It was only a few blocks from the cemetery, which was one of the reasons they chose it. John was in his truck, headed for the same motel to get a room of his own, Connor following close behind in his car. The elder Winchester had given terse orders to wait for his phone call. Apparently, they were going to have a family meeting, one that John bluntly told them “the kid and the Slayer don’t have any business at.”

“I’m going to shower, there’s vamp dust in my hair,” Dawn said, quietly, her jaw set as she headed for her room. She’d been sharing with Sam, a room with two double beds, just to save some cash, but Sam made no move to follow her just yet. He exchanged a look with Dean, one that said they both knew she was actually going to lock the door and stand in the shower and cry where she didn’t think they’d hear her.

“Gonna grab a few things from the vending machines,” Sam muttered, slipping his hands in his jacket pockets and heading down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the machines. Sam always liked to walk when he needed to think things through.

Which left Dean and Faith alone, standing silently in the dark.

~*~

Faith knew it was coming. As soon as they closed the door to their motel room, Dean spun on her and she sighed before he even spoke.

“Tell me,” he said.

“See, the thing is… that shit he said, about the Slayer and the spell and shit? That’s kinda… true. I mean, there’s more to it, but basically… yeah. Dawn was someone else’s sister first.”

She watched as the color drained from his face and her heart sank. She could have done that better.

He flopped backward, a bit, and let the nearest wall catch him and hold him up.

“Who was she?”

A tiny part of her stung that he wasn’t more upset with her; she’d been expecting fireworks. She should have known better- Dean Winchester was a family-man in the way she never had been. His priority would be Dawn, not her. A traitorous voice inside wondered if it’d always be that way, if his priorities would always be Sam, Dawn and John. She squashed the hurt, pushing it down into the darkness until she could almost believe it had never happened.

“Dawn Summers. I didn’t know her real well, but she was a good kid- smart, funny, brave. Buffy, the Slayer, she… she couldn’t face the fight that was coming without knowing the kid was safe, so when Angel showed up and offered her the spell… well, voila.”

Dean nodded absently and Faith’s stomach sank further. The Winchester’s attitude toward hunting was, and always had been, ‘kill it first and question it later’.

“Tell me everything you know.”

It wasn’t much, but she related what she did know without embellishment, glossing over why she hadn’t been in the loop for several years with the Sunnydale crew. She was in deep enough already without admitting to her pseudo-sociopathic moments in Sunnydale. There were still some things that she wasn’t ready to tell him. When she was done, the color had returned to Dean’s face and the weight in her chest had lessened.

“So you came with us because of Dawn? You wanted to keep her safe?”

Oh. The weight was back. Was that the only reason he could believe she would want to be with them? Guess she hadn’t been as obvious as she’d feared, all along. She didn’t answer, just shrugged.

“Thank you.” He thanked her? The hell, Dean? “I mean it. Thank you for looking out for her.”

The frustration was tempered, though, by a wave of affection. Dean was silent; staring into space wearing the vacant expression that she knew meant he was thinking something over- he might like to pretend to be a ditz most of the time but Faith knew better. He was rarely quiet, either, so she knew it was serious. He was considering his options; weighing up what she’d told him and Faith was pretty sure that her future traveling plans depended greatly on whatever he decided.

She stayed quiet, too, nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket and just managing to stop herself from bouncing on her heels. There was a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach and she hadn’t really realized how much she’d been enjoying traveling with them until she could feel it slipping away.

Jesus H Christ… when had these people become her people? She’d always had a soft spot for Dawn and Bobby was capital A awesome, but there was an unexpected well of affection for Sam and Dean had, somehow, crept inside her walls and wrapped himself around her heart and oh, God, the thought that he would send her away was kind of crushing and she could hear her breath hitch in her throat and then he was looking at her and she would have sworn her heart stopped.

He stepped forward, into her personal space, caught her around the waist and pulled her close and whatever tension had been building on her shoulders just… released and she could breathe again.

“Is there anything else that I should know?”

Uh, no. He knew she’d done time; she wasn’t going to tell him what for. Not ever. Not if he never asked. She shook her head slowly. She might have started this to keep Dawn safe and get back into Buffy’s good graces but… she’d gone native.

“No. And if there ever is, I’ll tell you.”

She was surprised to find that she actually meant it. When, exactly, had she fallen for Dean Winchester and why had no-one fucking told her? Fuck.

“Good.” His voice was rough and a delicious shiver crept up her spine. She let him pull her closer, relishing the feeling of his arms around her and the warmth of his breath on her skin. “It would really suck to have to kill you.” The words were half-serious, she could tell, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything even close to betrayal. Instead, her inner twelve year old was jumping up and down with glee- translated from Winchester to English that was practically an admission of undying love.

“Mmm… I can think of other things that suck.”

She swallowed his laugh with her lips and smiled against him in return, pushing him backward until he was pressed against the wall. Her hands crept under his shirt of their own volition and her tongue traced the inside of his mouth. He moaned when she found his nipple with her left hand, tracing it gently. She’d been gentle, before, with Robin, but she’d rarely enjoyed it as much as she did with Dean. Robin had been quiet and reserved, almost, where Dean was loud and energetic and threw all of himself into whatever he was doing. And when what he was doing was her, she really, really appreciated his work ethic.

“We’ve only got a little while before we have to meet up with the others,” she murmured against his mouth and she could feel the smirk on his lips.

“Better make it count then.”


	18. I Pledge Allegience, To The Winchesters...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to take sides

~*~

He’d showered, shaved, changed and punched the wall before he began to feel any better. And even at better, John still felt as if something had his heart in a vice-grip. He dropped onto the edge of the bed and let his head drop into his hands. The kids would be along soon and he really wasn’t sure what to tell them; what he’d learned about Sam and now what they knew about Dawn… it was a lot, all of a sudden, but he couldn’t hold it back now, could he?

He’d spent a long time wondering, and worrying, why it was Sam and not his sister that the demon had chosen. What was different about Sam that made him more… suitable, to whatever the demon’s plans were? Knowing that it wasn’t that Sam was more suitable, but that Dawn hadn’t actually been there… he was half relieved and half appalled. She was his little girl; he remembered bringing her home from the hospital and he remembered her first steps and the look on his wife’s face when she saw them for the first time. Twins had been a surprise and they’d been born full term, completely healthy. A good size, even, for twins.

Maybe he should have suspected? But really, how could anyone suspect something like that? He tried to pin-point when she’d arrived, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look back and point to any day that felt any different from any other. The years since Mary’s death had been hard and heartbreaking and wonderful, all at the same time. He couldn’t separate Dawn from those memories and he didn’t want to.

She was his daughter. She was a part of his wife and part of him and regardless of how she’d gotten to them that was just the way it was. If someone else had been foolish enough to give the girl away, well, he’d always be happy to claim her and they couldn’t have her back.

His head snapped up and his back straightened when the door opened and his children trooped in- Dean first, as always, with Dawn sandwiched between her brothers. She had her eyes on the floor and he could tell she’d been crying- more because of the concerned glances her brothers were shooting her than any evidence on her face. He caught Dean’s gaze and there was a question in his boy’s eyes; a concern and he felt a jolt to his heart that Dean might wonder how he’d react to this. But he’d made Dean responsible for his brother and sister years before- he only had himself to blame for the resulting mama-bear impression.

He stood up and crossed the room to where Dawn was standing, arms curled around herself and her long hair hiding her face. Gently, gentler the he remembered being in years; he took her by the elbow and pulled her into his arms. The boys just stood by and watched, awkward, as she collapsed onto his chest, sobbing and swearing that she hadn’t known anything and that she was a Winchester, she swore she was, and that she never wanted to be anyone else. He held her tight against him, running one hand up and down her back like he did when she was little and she was scared or sick, and whispered in her ear that she was his daughter and that he loved her and there was nothing that could change that.

Gradually, very gradually, she calmed enough that he could lead her back to the bed and they sat together at the edge. He gestured the boys over to sit on the other bed and they did so without question. He forced himself to meet their glazed eyes and smile what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Dean looked more relieved than John wanted to admit, and Sam seemed shell-shocked, much like Dawn, really.

“We need to talk about this; about what it means.” The boys sat up straighter and beside him, Dawn leaned away from him and turned her head so she could see his face. “Dawn’s family, that much is simple. But… she’s something else too, this Key that Connor mentioned. The boy doesn’t know any more details; says he wasn’t there when it happened.” Keen eyes turned to Dean. “Your Slayer… what does she know?” His eldest didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed or deny it, just accepted ownership and responsibility for the Slayer without blinking.

“She knows the Slayer who did the spell- Buffy Summers. Apparently, the Key was sent to her by some monks to be protected against a Hell god” He wasn’t sure he believed the god bit, “who wanted to use the key to return to her own dimension. The Slayer stopped the god and the key stuck around.” Dawn looked up at her brother with teary eyes and almost laughed. The key. Whatever the hell that was. “A couple years later, they were facing down the barrel of something Faith called the First Evil- some incorporeal entity with an army of vampires- and Summers made a deal with Connor’s father, Angel, to get a new life for Dawn. Somewhere safe, where she could be a normal person.” Dean met Dawn’s eyes again and his lips twisted into a smile. “That worked real well, huh?”

She laughed suddenly and her brothers joined in, near hysterical at the prospect of their family ever being normal. Even John joined in, chuckling to himself that anyone would think that their life was safe or protected. They protected each other, sure, but they also voluntarily sought the scary shit. There was nothing normal about that.

When the laughter died down, Dean continued, but the tension that had been in the air was cleared, Winchester-style. They might not be big on chick-flick moments, but they could bond in their own way.

“Apparently, that’s when the Slayer used a spell to release all the other Slayers and they sent the First crawling back into whatever hell hole it calls home.”

“And now it’s back and wants to kill me.” Dawn was quite matter-of-fact about it, all things considered.

“Well, not just kill you. Use you to destroy the world,” Dean said.

She rolled her eyes and kicked him on the shin, not impressed, and they fell silent.

“I need to get back to Bobby’s and hit the books,” Sam said.

Dawn and Dean both rolled their eyes, then, muttering about Geek-boy and his amazing research superpowers to the rescue.

“I don’t want you going anywhere alone, son. Not now,” John told him. Not when the other thing they had to discuss was so fresh in his mind. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s always too dangerous. Besides, Dean’ll drive me.”

He glanced at his brother in question and Dean acquiesced with a nod. Dean driving meant Faith- a Slayer- and Dawn, traveling together again.

“Can we trust the girl?”

Dawn shrugged, Sam admitted he wasn’t sure, and John’s eyes turned to Dean.

“I trust her. You’ll just have to trust me.”

And god, but didn’t the kid know how to push his old man’s buttons every bit as much as Sam did? There was a challenge in Dean’s eyes that John had rarely seen. He exhaled loudly, rubbing his hands over his face in an effort to clear his head.

“You know I trust you, kiddo. That’s not the question. Is she going to bring the Slayers down on us?”

Bobby had told John everything he ever needed to know about Slayers- and yeah, John had sent his own kids out Hunting in the dark, but they’d always had backup and years of training. They’d always expected to come out of it alive. Mostly.

“No. She won’t.”

The challenge was still there but John didn’t have the energy to push it; he really didn’t want to start a fight, not when they weren’t even close to done. Hell, they’d hardly started.

“Okay. Well… I got some other news.” What was the best way to put this, exactly?

“I found out what the Yellow-eyed demon was doing at our house the night your mother died.” He would have sworn he heard their jaws clacking together, their heads turned so fast to stare at him. “He was there for Sam. He cut himself, most likely, and bled into your mouth, marking you for… something. I don’t know what, yet.” He was careful to place one hand on Sam’s knee in silent support though, as expected, his youngest boy stood up pretty quickly and started to pace. Sam reacted with anger to things he didn’t understand- something Dawn had pointed out more than once, but which had taken a long time to sink in. John was still waiting for the day that she’d point out to him that Sam was exactly the same as his old man- though he thought he might have learned that one on his own.

“I have demon blood in me?” He sounded terrified and John cursed internally. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him; not now. Not this way.

“Just a little bit.” That didn’t help and the glare that Sam sent him could have skinned cats. “It doesn’t change anything, Sammy. It doesn’t change anything about you. It just means that we know why the demon was there. It gives us something to work from, for once.” They’d spent a long time chasing leads that materialized into jack, so… yeah, even knowing this truth was better than knowing nothing. He wasn’t going to tell them that the chances were that their mother made a deal, letting the demon into the house in return for… something. He remembered the night her parents died- some of it, anyway. He hadn’t thought much of it, then, but… yeah, ten years later, almost to the day, Sammy turned six months old. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Dean and Dawn rushed to reassure him, and Sam seemed to realize that he couldn’t freak out about demon blood and try to get Dawn to relax about the key thing at the same time. So instead the twins freaked out together, and Dean just sat back and watched them, talking over one another and babbling about being dangerous and not-real and any number of other things. John watched Dean, content to let the twins sort themselves out. They’d always been really good at that.

“Your girl, Faith. You’re sure?”

Dean rolled his eyes and glanced over at John, who shrugged in response. He was a father; this was his job.

“I’m sure, Dad. The Council sold her down the river when a shifter took her face- that’s how Bobby came to adopt her.” He’d heard that from Bobby, too. “She’s on our side.”

From the other side of the room, Dawn took a second out of her ramblings to grin over at her father.

“Yeah, Dean’s prowess in the sack has apparently converted another one.”

Sam laughed, the anguish fleeing his face, and Dean actually blushed.

They weren’t okay again, yet, but they would be. Someday.

~*~

Faith sat on the swing with a sigh and gave a half-hearted push with her feet to set herself swaying, gently. The playground was in the park a half a block from their motel and seemed as good a place as any to wait while the Winchesters had a family conference. Connor had plopped himself down on the merry-go-round, about three yards away and looked lost in thought.

She should have been lying in bed with Dean in the air-conditioned motel room, but instead she was sitting here, in the humid summer air on a deserted playground with a ghost from her past. It was enough to make a girl downright grumpy.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said and Connor’s disturbingly intense blue gaze fell on her.

“I had to. Dawn had to know.”

“Why? Why’d she have to know, Connor? She’s happy, safe. She’s with family, dammit, the one she should have had to begin with,” Faith told him, sharply.

“Because it’s all going to start again,” Connor said, his own demeanor calm. His temper wasn’t rising to meet hers and it sort of took the wind out of her sails. She saw the worry in his eyes and couldn’t help feeling an answering stir inside herself. After all, Connor had been through hell with the supernatural world and if he was worried, there was probably good reason.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re looking for her,” Connor sighed. “The First Evil is back and it wants the Key. Buffy’s got an army of Slayers searching for Dawn and you can bet they’ll find her eventually.”

“Shit,” Faith muttered, wishing she still smoked. Her fingers were twitching with the need to do something, anything and she chewed the inside of her lip for a moment before leveling her gaze at Connor.

“Look, Junior,” she began and he snorted at the name, remembering the first time she’d used it, back when Angel had lost his soul. She’d threatened to give him a whoopin then. He recognized her scent now, the elusive familiar smell at Bobby’s, a shadow of his old life. She ignored the snort. “I need you to know that if the time comes and the Slayers show, it’s not going to be a love fest of sisterhood.”

“You mean you won’t stand with the Slayers.” It wasn’t a question but she gave a terse nod anyway.

“The Council, Buffy and Giles, they left me to rot in a jail cell for a crime I didn’t commit. It was Hunters, like the Winchesters, sent by Bobby, actually, that saved my ass. Even if it wasn’t for Dawn-“ and Dean, she thought, without saying it aloud- “I’d be throwing in with the Winchesters.”

“But it is Dawn,” Connor said, sighing. “And she’s happy with the Winchesters. She may not always be safe, white picket fences and Sunday dinners, but she’s good at what she does and she loves it. No one deserves to be jerked out of their lives and told, oh, hey, by the way, this is who you really are.”

“What are you getting at Junior?” Faith asked, fairly sure she already knew, but needing to hear him say it.

“I didn’t come here to find the Key, Faith. I came here to protect Dawn from being dragged back into her old life.”

“Okay, then,” she said, after a moment. “That’s good. We’re on the same page. Cause it’d be a bitch to have to explain to Angel why I had to kick your ass.”

Connor just grinned at her.


	19. The Hunters, The Key and The Wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Keys need best friends

~*~

Dawn eased the door open, careful not to wake Sam. He’d been twisting and turning for hours and he’d only just fallen asleep- and yeah, she couldn’t sleep, but she wasn’t going to wake him if she could avoid it. It was dark and cold outside as Dawn crossed the parking lot to the Impala, slipping into the passenger seat out of habit. Dean locked the car every night, sure, but Dawn had the only spare key- and she wasn’t allowed tell Sam that it even existed. She just needed some space and there was nowhere safer than the Impala; nowhere that felt anymore like home. The car smelled like her father and her brothers and like gun oil and leather- home on wheels.

She toyed with her phone for a second, considering, before making a call. The Impala was safe and close and, best of all, private- not even Faith or Connor would hear her, out here, and she didn’t want them to hear her. Her call hit voicemail and she hung up and redialed immediately- she really, really needed to talk, so Jo would have to suck it up and answer.

“Yeah?” Her voice was bleary with sleep but alert- rolling into action like anyone Hunter-raised could.

“Hey JoJo. Can you talk?”

There was silence for a beat and Dawn could hear shuffling and lowered tones as Jo got up and left the bed (or wherever).

“Yeah, Dawnie. What’s wrong?”

Because something was definitely wrong- Jo could tell that by her tone, Dawn was sure, if not by the fact that she’d actually asked if the other girl could talk instead of just launching into conversation like always.

“A bunch of shit just hit the proverbial fan and I could use a friendly ear, is all.”

Jo scoffed and Dawn could hear her friend pouring a drink.

“Get on with it, Winchester. We’re burning daylight.”

Jo had been her best friend for more than six years- ever since John had walked into the Ellen Harvelle’s Roadhouse in Nebraska and begged for help with his teenage daughter. Ellen had been reluctant but she’d taken one look at Dawn, miserable and heart-broken and sat her straight down for a heart-to-heart. Jo had been behind the bar, shamelessly eavesdropping. It was a match made in heaven- there weren’t many female Hunters, and fewer still under the age of twenty, and having a friend who could talk bullets, boots, boys and boobs was priceless.

Dawn blurted it out in a rush, not stopping to think or even try to form coherent sentences. It was confusing and chaotic, but Jo was used to following Winchester-speak so she got it. Mostly.

“So… you’re a mystical key?” Her voice was hushed and quiet and Dawn suddenly realized that Jo wasn’t at home alone. Oh. Awkward. “Weird.” She heard her friend pour another drink, hoping it was water and not whiskey. “Whatcha gonna do about it? Hey- can we go to Narnia?” And there it was- casual acceptance wrapped in humor, wrapped in concern and a Hunter-esque desire for action and all Dawn could do was giggle.

“No, I don’t think so. I live in a car- we don’t have a wardrobe.”

“Good point. Darn.” Jo fell silent, and Dawn started to fidget, twisting her fingers in her pajama bottoms and staring out into the dark. “You know I love you, right? I mean, unless you suddenly start advocating gun control, we’re golden.”

“I know.” She fought to keep her voice steady; controlled, but it didn’t quite work. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Jo sounded kind of scared, too, which was oddly reassuring. Dean and her Dad were all about the game-face and not acknowledging anything that might resemble an emotion, and Sam had his own shit to deal with. Knowing that someone else was freaking out too was kinda comforting. “You need me to come see you?” They didn’t get to see each other often- not surprising, given the nature of the Hunt, and they hadn’t been face-to-face in months. “I’m free as a bird, babe- no college holding me back anymore.”

Jo had tried it- following Sam’s good example, Ellen had professed. She’d lasted less than two years, declaring it ridiculous and dropping out before her finals and hitting the road. Ellen still hadn’t forgiven her and Dean was scared of Ellen, so Jo wasn’t allowed travel with them. Plus, Jo had an inconvenient crush that made things awkward, but they didn’t mention that.

“No, I’m good. Just… answer the phone when I call?” As if Jo ever wouldn’t- she said as much. “Even if your new boy is distracting you?”

“Sweetheart, for you, I’d answer the phone even if I was on my knees-“

“Whoa, whoa- whatever you’re about to say, I don’t need to hear it.” Jo just laughed.

“Tell me about Bobby’s new strays, anyway. Is he cute? Is she a bitch? Please, tell me that she’s a bitch. And ugly.”

“I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, its three thirty in the morning and I have a pretty man in my bed that I am ignoring in favor of this conversation- so spill, babe, or I’m gonna have to wake him up instead.”

In the dark, Dawn’s smile widened and she slid down the seat, letting her head fall onto the backrest, curling up and letting Jo talk her out of her funk, one inappropriate joke at a time.

~*~


	20. Exactly Who I'm Supposed to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester, through and through

Dawn wasn’t sure when she came to terms with it all. Somewhere between talking to Jo and waking up to find Sam’s bed already made, packed duffel sitting on top and then the phone call a half hour later from their dad, saying to meet him at the diner across the road, she realized she wasn’t freaking out, not really, not anymore. The cold weight of the truth was sitting heavy on her shoulders, sure, but being a freak was sort of par for the course in her family. Her real family. The Winchester one.

So, she’d been someone else before. It didn’t really matter, because that was before and now, she was Dawn Marie Winchester, twin of Sam, baby sister of Dean and only daughter of John and Mary. That was her new prayer, she’d decided. Any time she felt her calm slipping, she’d simply repeat it to herself, just like she’d done a thousand times through the night. She could do this, because Sam would help her, Dean would make her and John would kill anything or anyone that tried to take her.

After tossing their duffels into the Impala, she and Sam walked together across the street to the diner and she glanced sideways at her twin. He looked calm, normal, casual, but there was a tightness around his eyes, a tension in his shoulders that said otherwise and Dawn’s gut clenched. Her twin, her other half and he was hurting. This demon blood thing, Yellow Eyes, as they called him. They had to figure it out, find a way to fix it. Bobby would have something in his library, some scrap of lore or legend or prophecy, something, even if it was in a damn book of fairy tales. She’d find it.

Mind firmly set on that goal, Dawn was smiling when she walked into the diner.

~*~

Dawn was smiling. It wasn’t her pretty, friendly, bright smile either. It was her slightly wicked, very determined, I’ve got a mission so don’t get in my way smile and John wondered exactly what was going on in that head. His youngest children confused him and terrified him in equal parts when they started using those scary brains of theirs and it looked like Dawn’s was working away on some plan or another.

Just behind the twins came the boy, Connor, sauntering into the diner and sliding into a chair beside Sam, across from John at the table. The waitress, who’d been heading their way, paused and traded her half full carafe of coffee for a full one as they all flipped their coffee cups right side up. It was the universal symbol in every diner in America, John supposed, that a person needed their morning jolt. The four of them were silent as she approached, nodding and murmuring their thanks as she filled their cups.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked.

“We’re waiting for two more,” John said, but Dawn raised her eyebrows.

“Like I’m waiting for Dean and Faith to roll out of bed,” she snorted. “Get real, Dad. I’d like an order of pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, please,” she told the waitress.

“Right, I guess we might as well order then,” John sighed, as Sam and Connor placed their orders. The waitress turned to him then and he asked for the special, then watched as she walked away.

Their food came about ten minutes later and it was another ten minutes before Dean and the Slayer walked into the diner. The waitress hurried over as they sat down, filling their coffee cups and taking their orders and then John watched, slightly fascinated, as Faith snatched a piece of bacon off Sam’s plate without even earning a glance from his youngest son. His children and Faith fell into an easy banter that spoke of familiarity and total comfort with one another. They’d bonded into a cohesive unit and John felt a pang of regret along with a grudging acceptance that Faith was part of the team now, whether he liked it or not. He saw Connor observing them as well and cleared his throat, gaining all of their attention.

“Got a call last night, about a job. I’m gonna be headed out after breakfast,” he told them.

“Where’s the job?” Sam asked and John knew better than to stray too far from the truth. Sam had an uncanny ability to tell when his father was lying outright.

“Ohio, so I’ll need to get a move on if I want to get there in time to do any good. You guys are heading to Bobby’s?”

“Yeah, soon as we eat,” Dean said, making a face at Faith as she dumped excessive amounts of sugar into her coffee.

“Then we’ll meet up there after I’m through,” John said. He was totally unprepared for Dawn’s response.

“Unless we find something. Then you’ll just have to catch up,” she said, casually taking another bite of pancake.

John was silent for a moment, having a hard time forming words. When he finally spoke, it came out a little more sharply than he intended.

“No, you’ll wait at Bobby’s until I get there.”

Dawn paused in her chewing and looked up at him with those blue eyes, a gaze so intense he almost looked away.

“No, we won’t. If we find something that can help Sam, or lead us to Yellow Eyes, we’re gonna go and you’ll come when you can.”

He was used to Sam fighting him every step of the way, but not Dawn. He was completely unused to his daughter not falling into line with his orders and he wasn’t so sure he liked it.

“She’s right,” Dean said and John looked at him, sharply. Dean was his good soldier, never questioning orders and John felt his world tilting on its axis. “If we can find something about Yellow Eyes, or about the Key thing, we aren’t gonna wait for you.”

“Look, you kids can’t handle everything by yourselves-“ he started, but Dean interrupted.

“Since when? We’ve been hunting on our own for years.”

“Dean-“

“Enough,” said Faith, sharply and their gazes all snapped to her.

“We’re drawing some attention, guys,” said Connor, nodding to the waitress and the couple in the corner booth, who were watching them interestedly.

“Look, I get that you’re used to running the show,” Faith said to John, in a lower tone than what they’d been using. “But I’ve been along for this ride for a while now and whatever things were like before, from what I’ve seen, Sam, Dawn and Dean can handle pretty much anything you throw at them.”

Resentment rose in John, along with an absurd amount of pride that the Slayer was apparently impressed with his children’s hunting skills.

“Doesn’t mean they can handle this,” he said, because he couldn’t not argue.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Connor said, dropping easily into the conversation and John tried hard and maybe even succeeded a little bit at not glaring. “But putting off what needs doing just because you aren’t there yet seems a little bit stupid.”

“Besides,” Faith added. “Not like they don’t have back up. We may not be hunters in your book, but me and Junior cut our teeth on killing monsters.”

Their words made horrible, logical, perfect sense and even John Winchester knew when he’d been outdone. He hated that these two had come into their lives, that they’d changed so much, so quickly and not in his favor. He didn’t hate Dean and the twins having two supercharged hunters working with them, though and he had to admit that, even if it was only to himself.

“I don’t like it,” John said, finally, but his tone said he knew the argument was over and he hadn’t won.

“You don’t have to like it, Daddy. It’s just the way it is,” Dawn told him, quirking a little smile at him and then returning to her breakfast.

And that was when John Winchester knew for certain he’d lost control of this family. Which meant it was a really good thing he hadn’t told them what he really intended to do in Ohio.

~*~


	21. Nobody Loves Trouble As Much As Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me a story

~*~

“Dean, stop looking in the damn mirror. They’re not going to disappear and Sam’s in the backseat for shit’s sake,” Faith sighed, rolling her eyes and propping her feet on the dashboard.

Dean gave one last look in the mirror at Connor’s car, following the Impala down the freeway with Sam in the backseat and Dawn in the front. They’d been all packed up and ready to leave and then the shit hit the fan when Dawn said she was riding with Connor.

There was yelling, swearing, arguing and then, when all three Winchester men realized Dawn would not be swayed, there was negotiating, which lead to Sam in the backseat and threats, which led to Connor giving a wry smirk and saying a few very sarcastic “yes, sirs”. In the end, Dawn got to ride with Connor, Sam squeezed into the backseat of his car and Dean and Faith pulled out of the diner parking lot in the Impala, leaving John standing on the blacktop, watching them go.

Faith watched Dean’s gaze flick from the rear view mirror, to the road and back again and bit back a groan. It was going to be a long ride.

~*~

Dawn leaned back in her seat, listening. She’d waited for Sam to pretend to fall asleep in the backseat before she brought up anything of importance with Connor. She’d turned a little sideways in her seat and just out and said “Will you tell me?”

“About you?” Connor asked, glancing at her and not pretending not to understand.

“No,” she’d said and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise on his face. Still, it was true. She didn’t want to know about this… other life she supposedly had, once upon a time. She wasn’t ready for that.

“No, tell me about you. Please,” she added.

He’d been silent for a moment and she thought he was going to ignore her or at least refuse her request. Then he started speaking in a low voice.

“My mother, my birth mother, Darla, the vampire, killed herself to save me on the night I was born…”

His story was long, confusing, complicated and horribly sad. When he talked about Quor Toth, the hell dimension, it made her ache for him, the way he spoke so matter-of-factly about being left alone in the middle of the wilderness by his pseudo-father, Holtz. His childhood, the one behind the spell, broke her heart and now, she really didn’t want to know about her own. When he reached the end of his memories as Connor-Stephen-Angel-Holtz, he stopped, abruptly.

“What about the other life? The one they gave you?” she asked, quietly and felt something flutter in her stomach when he smiled. He started talking about his parents and she relaxed against the seat, just listening to him talk.

~*~

Faith watched Dawn sweep her hair back into a high ponytail and observed the faraway look in the younger woman’s eyes.

“Thinkin’ heavy thoughts over there, D?” she asked, leaning back against the desk in Dawn’s motel room.

“Sort of,” Dawn admitted, after a moment, chewing on her lower lip.

“Connory things?” Faith prodded and Dawn turned and looked at her.

“Destroyery things,” she said and Faith’s eyebrows rose.

“Guess you two had a talk, then? He tell you about yourself?”

“No, I asked him not to. I’d rather remember on my own. He told me about himself instead,” Dawn said, sitting on the foot of the bed and pulling one boot on.

“And have you? Remembered, I mean?” Faith asked, turning to the mirror to fix her lipstick.

“Just a guy with a British accent,” Dawn said, zipping up her boot slowly, as if distracted by her thoughts.

“Giles?” Faith said, brow furrowed and Dawn shrugged.

“Don’t know. Does Giles wear a long black coat and smell like cigarettes, blood and leather?”

Faith sighed and smiled a little.

“Spike, of course. He was only glued to you for like ever.”

“What kind of name is Spike for a Hunter?” Dawn asked, slipping the key card into her back pocket.

“Nickname,” Faith said, sighing. “Because when he was… younger, he enjoyed torturing his victims with railroad spikes. Spike is William the Bloody and he’s not a Hunter, exactly. He’s a vampire, who just happens to have a soul these days.”

“Lemme get this straight, my… sister or whatever she is, was the Slayer, but I was hanging out with multiple vampires?” Dawn asked, feeling a migraine coming on.

“He was sort of your bodyguard or babysitter or whatever. Once he was on her side, he was the only one Buffy trusted to keep you safe. Look,” Faith sighed. “I know it all sounds screwy and to tell the truth, it really was, but Spike was totally your big-brother-bodyguard-hero-guy. Speaking of brothers, though, have you mentioned any of this to Dean or Sam?”

“Right, so they can go all caveman protective again? Forget it,” Dawn muttered. “Let’s just drop it for now before I decide to stay in and get drunk instead of going out to play tonight.”

“Playtime it is,” Faith smirked and they left the motel room.

~*~

Connor needed a drink… or ten. He hadn’t even really stopped to think about the fact that as soon as he let the memories of his old life in, he’d started regaining the perks, like his senses and strength. Only problem was he was gaining the few downsides of being the Destroyer as well and one of those was that it took way too much alcohol to get drunk.

He’d spent the afternoon with Dawn, telling her about his life, or lives as it were and in doing so, had started getting to know her. He’d never known Dawn Summers, but Dawn Winchester was smart and fiery and, he’d found, he really liked making her laugh. The sleeping giant in the backseat of his car, who he was sure had heard and seen everything, hadn’t made any comments, but Connor had noticed the looks he was getting from Sam since they’d reached the motel they were staying in. They weren’t entirely unfriendly, but they were… assessing. He was sure, had it been Dean, that the looks would’ve been outright hostile, but of the two brothers, Sam was the more levelheaded one.

Dawn was on the dance floor with Faith and the two of them were… doing something that might’ve been dancing, but was more like some primal rush of adrenaline, rhythm and sensuality. The Slayer’s movements were predatory power, evident in the subtle play of the muscles under her skin. Beside her, Dawn looked delicate, almost fey-like, moving her body with natural grace that belied the strength he’d seen her use when hunting and Connor couldn’t help but watch, until he felt vaguely like a stalker and forced himself to look down at his drink.

Connor had had girlfriends. He’d been to parties and done what college kids do, but he’d never gotten crazy about it. He’d had a couple of relationships that lasted several months, but he’d never been “head over heels” about anyone, never felt like maybe he’d found someone worth staying with for the long run. Problem was, this was so very not the time to be having those kinds of feelings about anyone.

A glance up found Sam staring at him again and Connor bit back a groan. The first girl he’d ever met that he thought he could fall for and she was Dawn freaking Winchester, Sam’s twin, Dean’s little sister, John’s daughter, Faith’s new best friend, the ex-sister of Buffy Summers and the freaking Key to top it all off. She was the one person in the world whose life, present and past (and past) might be more screwed up than his. He was so very royally screwed and he definitely needed another drink.

~*~


	22. I Wanna Rattle Your Pipes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old enough to be my father, but damn...

“Can I help you?” Katya kept her right hand steady on the door, blocking the entrance. Not that he could get past her if he tried- the redhead was confident that she could handle anything that the guy tried to throw at her. Whoever he was, he was tall and broad and Katya couldn’t help but give him a quick once-over. Nice.   
  
“I got a call about a leak? I’m the plumber.” Had someone called for a plumber? Her shift had only started twenty minutes before and she hadn’t read any of Rona’s handover notes yet. The other Slayer practically wrote a novel at every handover and it drove Katya nuts. She must have been frowning, because the guy looked a bit confused. “John Dillon? Leaking pipes in the attic? Something about a yoga room?”  
  
As if they had a _yoga_ room.   
  
“Wait here.” She shut the door in his face and retreated to the office. Sure enough, there was a post-it on the computer screen in Rona’s handwriting, neatly stating: Pipes leaking into the gym. Called plumber. Expect J. Dillon at noon.   
  
When she opened the door the second time, she even smiled as she gestured for him to come in- careful not to invite him, just in case. It was daylight, sure, but it had been drilled into her as a Potential that inviting strangers into your home was just asking for trouble. He stepped across the threshold easily, worn boots and navy overalls seeming out of place in the contemporary-chic entrance hallway. He looked a little nervous; too, gripping his tool-bag tightly as if he didn’t want to let the canvas touch the floor.  
  
Katya could definitely identify with that- she’d been afraid to touch anything when she arrived at HQ first, and not just because she wasn’t sure of her Slayer strength.   
  
“Follow me, John. The leak is this way.” She led him up the stairs to the attic in silence- it was summer, and the girls were either on vacation or on assignment, so the building was mostly empty. Only the experienced and the injured were assigned to HQ during the off-season- research and recon, mostly. No-one that would be dumb enough to reveal anything to the plumber- not since Candice and Amy frightened the crap out of the Pizza guy the previous year anyway.   
  
She left him in the attic, puzzling over the pipes, and returned to her post, promising him that she was downstairs if he needed her. The phone was ringing when she reached the office and, sighing, she answered, silently hoping for an apocalypse or a demon war or something to liven up her day.   
  
Cleveland during the summer sucked.  
  


  
Buffy slammed the front door behind her, swearing and resisting the urge to kick something. The Slayer in the office- Katya, from Oklahoma- rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored the other woman. Buffy was a legend among the second wave of slayers, and her temper recently was even more legendary. The girls tended to ignore her because getting drawn into the drama led to all kinds of badness.   
  
The search for Dawn wasn’t going well and everyone knew it- everyone could tell from the way the scowl on her face deepened daily. Buffy raised one hand in a sheepish wave and disappeared down the hallway, ignoring both Giles’ office and the training rooms in favour of the kitchens. She needed coffee. And ice-cream. And chocolate.   
  
Or at least some of the leftover Chinese in the fridge, if no-one had eaten it already. Food was a precious commodity amongst Slayer-kind. She sauntered through the open door and straight to the refrigerator, muttering to herself. They’d been searching for Dawn for weeks and no-one had heard so much as a whisper of her. She cursed herself again for not checking on Dawn post-spell and post-Sunnydale- she’d been trying to cut ties and leave the girl to live her own life and then when they’d needed to find her and keep her safe, she was gone and no-one could tell her what had happened. God, if Wolfram and Hart were still in this dimension, she’d destroy them all over again.   
  
They were searching for a needle in a haystack and nothing she’d tried had worked. They hadn’t found her in any of the schools Dawn had wanted to go to- she wasn’t in college anywhere, as far as Willow could tell, and whatever had interrupted the spell and sent Dawn off in another direction had left no trace of itself. Even using Buffy’s blood to track Dawn hadn’t worked- and Willow said it was either because Dawn was already dead (which her sister refused to believe) or because the spell had re-woven Dawn’s D.N.A into her new family’s.   
  
What they didn’t say out-loud is that they had no way of knowing if Dawn’s name was even Dawn anymore, or if the girl looked the same as she did when she had been sent to Sunnydale. Connor had stayed the same, sure, but they hadn’t counted on the Key when she’d agreed to the plan. No-one had counted on the Key, convinced that it had been deactivated or used up or whatever… right up until the First came looking for it. Her.   
  
Dawn might not even be in the US anymore. Buffy groaned, annoyed with herself, and piled the leftovers onto a plate and almost threw it into the microwave. While the plate spun and her food heated, she hopped up onto the countertop and only then did she notice feet sticking out from under the sink. Well, feet and legs. She slid off the counter, trying to remember if anyone had told her anything about there being a guy in, fixing stuff.   
  
Normally, Xander fixed stuff- but Xander was on the road, somewhere in Texas, following the story of a girl who’d blown up her house with her mind. It was a long shot, but it could have been a backfiring portal and they knew a girl who could do that, maybe. Whatever. Xander wasn’t here and having strangers in the school freaked her out.   
  
“Whatcha doin’?” Whoever it was didn’t even respond and Buffy frowned, poking the closest leg with her foot. He jumped, then, and emerged from beneath the sink, ear-phones hanging around his head. He was older, maybe Giles’ age, and bearded and he grinned at her, sheepish.  
  
“Didn’t hear ya there. What can I do for you?” He had a wrench, or something, in one hand and was looking up at her expectantly.   
  
“Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?” She didn’t mean to sound so suspicious but… yeah, she was suspicious. It wasn’t everyday that handsome men inspected her pipes. She fought back a blush at the unintentional innuendo, grateful that he couldn’t hear her inner ramblings. Jeez. On top of everything else, she clearly needed to get laid.  
  
“I’m the plumber.” He waved the wrench as evidence and she flushed, just a little, and her tense shoulders relaxed a little.  
  
“There’s a problem?” He nodded gesturing under the sink.   
  
“More than one, I’m afraid. This sink was leaking into the basement and there’s a toilet on the top floor that was leaking into the bedroom below. Your Yoga room has had a burst pipe leaking into the ceiling there for weeks, it looks like.” He frowned a little, “Whoever you’ve had handling your plumbing needs a serious talking-to.” He said it with a wry smile, but it didn’t help make Buffy feel better. She didn’t have time to deal with this crap. She’d been bad at it when her house was a three-bed detached, never mind a school complete with its own postcode. Next time Xander swore he could fix something, she wasn’t going to believe him. Behind her, the microwave beeped.   
  
“Right. Okay. Well, I’ll let you get back to work. If you need anything, come find me- Buffy Summers. I’m in charge around here.” She held out her hand to shake his, blushing when she realized that he was still laying on his back under her sink and his hands were coated with gross sink-gloop.   
  
He didn’t shake her hand though, thankfully.  
  
“John Dillon. I’ll be finished up here in a few minutes and hopefully you won’t see me again anytime soon.” He smiled again and she could see the laughter lines around his eyes. He looked a lot younger when he smiled and she became suddenly conscious of her sweat-stained tee and messy hair.   
  
“Right. Right. That’s fine.” She retreated quickly, collecting her food and some cutlery and disappearing out the door without looking back. She met Katya again at the stairs and the other girl raised an eyebrow at the blush staining her cheeks.   
  
“I met the plumber.” She offered in explanation and Katya grinned wickedly.  
  
“He’s so pretty, isn’t he?” She sighed, glancing down the hallway to the kitchen. “Maybe I should ask him to check my plumbing.” Katya winked at her and Buffy’s blush darkened.   
  
“He’s old enough to be your father.” He was old enough to be Buffy’s father, too, but that hadn’t stopped her from looking.   
  
“Mmm… but he’d be worth it, right?” Buffy was laughing as she retreated up the stairs, waving off Katya’s increasingly suggestive comments. The last thing she needed was a quickie with the stranger in the kitchen- but if Kat was interested, Buffy wasn’t going to stop her. Hell, she wasn’t even going to try. She was completely aware that she’d been a heinous bitch recently so if someone was able to find a little happiness, Buffy was just going to sit back and be jealous. She poked at her food, suddenly not hungry. Katya reminded her strongly of someone else- someone who had taught her the hungry and horny philosophy of Slaying.   
  
She tried to put it out of her mind. Faith was M.I.A but they didn’t have time to chase her down and find out what had happened- she should have known better than to send a lawyer. The lawyer in question had been relocated to Siberia for fucking up as badly as he had and Buffy hadn’t heard from Faith since. She was pretty sure that the other Slayer would never contact them again- she wouldn’t go off the rails, no matter what anyone said, but she’d count herself out all the same.   
  
Buffy couldn’t blame her- if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in the First Evil thing and the Dawn thing, she’d have been there herself. She should have just gone herself, anyway, given the absolutely no progress they’d made. Maybe she should turn her attention to finding Faith, instead. She owed the woman an apology, at the least, and she missed her, too. It had taken years, but Buffy had come to rely on the second Slayer- not just for backup, but for advice and for humour and for a lot of other things.   
  
She picked at her food, letting her gaze drift out the window. No-one was dead, nothing was different… but two of the people she loved the most were missing. One who didn’t know her and one who maybe didn’t want to and it was her own fault.  
  


  
John watched the blonde leave the kitchen before he began cleaning up. The leak under the sink had been an easy fix- thankfully, because it had been years since he’d actually tried his hand at plumbing. He’d busted Bobby’s pipes once, but that didn’t count. He threw his things back into his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, heading back along the hallway to the door. The red-head who’d let him in was there again, grinning at him in a way that made him a teeny bit uncomfortable.   
  
“Hey. I’m all finished.” He made sure she saw his wedding ring, back on his finger after he’d finished up, and she deflated a little. “I’ll send along the bill next week, but you need to get someone in to check the ceilings, okay?” There really had been some damage- water leaking through from the attic. He’d even tried to fix it, but he was certain that he’d done more harm than good. Engines, he could handle. Pipes, not so much- but at least it hadn’t been electricity, or he’d probably have burnt the place down already.   
  
“So you’re leaving?” She coupled the words with a blinding smile, arms crossed and pushing her breasts forward, but she sounded disappointed.   
  
He knew was she was angling for- he wasn’t oblivious, and he wasn’t a monk despite what his kids might prefer- but she was younger than Dawn. It was flattering, sure, but the thought made him feel a little sick. And a little bit like a pervy old man, if he was being completely honest.   
  
“Job’s done; time to go.” He grinned back at her and made his way toward the door, making a mental note that the next time someone had to infiltrate Slayer HQ, he was sending Bobby. Or Dean. But probably Bobby, because Dean might not make it out with his virtue intact. He chose to believe that his son had any virtue remaining, though from what Bobby had told him, the Slayer his kids were traveling with seemed to have a claim on it.   
  
He hadn’t been thrilled to hear that his eldest was smitten with a Slayer but he’d have to trust the boy. He’d been even less thrilled to see it for himself and realize it was worse than he’d thought. He trusted his boy- there was no question of that. He’d left Dean alone with Sam, Dawn and two supernaturally enhanced fighters, after all. He just wasn’t sure about Faith, maybe, or about how much she was influencing his boy- he’d never seen Dean so enraptured by a girl before and god knows Dean had known a lot of girls.   
  
But he remembered Mary, and he remembered what it had felt like to be so captivated by someone… so enchanted by another person that you could overlook almost anything just to be with them. (He’d overlooked a lot, he knew now, but he couldn’t regret a second of it.)   
  
Part of him was relieved- so very relieved, to see his eldest look at a woman the way John had looked at Mary, once. Maybe he hadn’t fucked up as badly as he’d always feared, if even Dean was able to find someone he could maybe love.  
  
He pulled out of the drive and disappeared into traffic in seconds- time to get back to the motel, swap his number plates out and get on the road. He really didn’t want to still be in Cleveland when the Slayers realized what he’d taken. Hell, he didn’t want to be in Ohio when they realized he hadn’t actually been a plumber- god alone knew what damage he’d done to the pipes.  
  


  
Buffy eventually threw the remainder of her dinner into the trash and pulled open the top drawer on her desk, reaching inside to retrieve the file.   
  
But the file wasn’t there. She checked twice; checked the floor, the other drawers, and everywhere else she could think of.   
  
The only photograph she had of Dawn was gone. All the information they had on the key was gone. Everything she had that connected her to her sister was just… gone. There were copies, sure, but not of everything- anything that had been reported from all the search teams and all the information Giles had scraped together from books and scrolls and random references on the internet.   
  
She almost broke down; almost cried at the loss of it; the loss of her sister, all over again.   
  
Almost, right up until she realized who must have taken it- and he was in for a world of pain when she caught up with him.


	23. Distractions and getting side-tracked...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been literally eight years or so since I worked on this, so bear with me while I get back into the rhythm!

~*~

Dean hadn’t had this kind of fun in… well, longer than he could remember. It had started out as the two of them running to the store for snacks. He so had no idea how it became running through backyards, stealing clothes off someone’s clothesline. They were pulling them on as they ran, headed for the Impala. Somewhere in the middle, there had been a couple bikers, a bet and a backyard swimming pool, with a shotgun wielding owner.

Connor was laughing so hard he could barely run and Dean grabbed his arm and dragged him along. They’d made a wide circle around the neighborhood and ended up back at the car, where they’d luckily left everything but their jeans. The rumble of motorcycles could be heard in the distance as the bikers made their own getaway. Connor was still gasping for breath when Dean started the car and they pulled away from the curb and headed back in the direction of the motel.

He wasn’t positive why it was Connor that he ended up taking off with, but he was sort of glad he had. Even though Connor had proven repeatedly that he was a competent hunter and a hell of a fighter, Dean had held out reservations about the newest addition to their little tribe, especially in the last few days, when the boy had shown an undeniable interest in Dawn. It wasn’t that Dean was in denial about Dawn being a full grown woman. It was just the principal of the thing. She was his sister and it was his job to be an ass about any guy that was into her. He had to admit, though, that this side of Connor was someone he could get used to.

~*~

Dawn was, predictably, waiting up for them. Dean hadn’t expected Faith and Sam to be with her, though. It looked like the three of them had split a bottle of Jack Daniels while playing poker and were now kicked back on the front walkway of their motel, where the management had conveniently placed a few lawn chairs. They’d dragged the chair over from Faith and Dean’s room and Sam’s room too and the little table they were playing on looked suspiciously like the one that had been beside the bed in Dean and Faith’s room. The cards sat forgotten, though, when Dean and Connor pulled up in the Impala.

“What the hell have you two been up to?” Faith asked, eyebrow raised as they approached.

Dean and Connor both held up the plastic bags full of chips and other snacks.

“We went for snacks, remember?” Dean said and Faith sighed, rolling her eyes. Sam snorted and Dawn laughed out loud.

“Right, like an hour and a half ago. Did you do a little clothes shopping while you were out? Trying out a new look?” she asked her older brother, looking him up and down, pointedly. Dean looked down at himself now that they were in the light. Boots, jeans… and a pink and green Hawaiian style tourist shirt. He glanced over at Connor and saw that at least the other man had grabbed a plain t-shirt. He’d thought it was blue. Now that they could actually see, he realized it was purple. 

“Actually, I was just telling Dean that his wardrobe could use a little more color, so we decided to try it out,” Connor said, with a completely straight face and a shrug. He set his bag of snacks down next to the table and grabbed a lawn chair from one of the nearby rooms, dragging it over next to Dawn. “Deal us in?”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get more of an explanation, Dawn rolled her eyes and sat back down, while Dean stole another chair and plopped down next to Faith. She glanced sideways at him.

“The green’s working for you, really brings out the color in your eyes,” she said and she heard Sam’s choked laugh from across the table.

“You know I look great in any color,” Dean told her. “Besides, the cotton feels great on my skin, really breathes, you know? Now, pour me a shot of that Jack and deal me in.”

~*~

Dawn was tipsy. Not drunk, not really, but definitely feeling the Jack Daniels she’d been drinking all evening. It made it easier, less awkward, when they all started drifting off to their respective rooms, to linger with Connor until after Dean and Faith had disappeared and Sam wandered into the room he was sharing with Connor. Dawn had her own room this time and she had a vague plan to get Connor to go back to it with her. 

The last few nights, ever since the truth about her past had been dropped into their life like an atomic bomb, she’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, haunted by nightmares every time she closed her eyes. There were faces she didn’t know, voices she’d never heard before, crowding in on her, making her feel trapped, helpless. Helpless wasn’t a concept that Dawn was comfortable with. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been determined to be strong enough, capable enough to take care of herself, and to never be afraid of anything she could kill. She couldn’t kill this, couldn’t control it and that was unacceptable. She desperately needed to get a handle on this, to get control of her life again and making the decision to bring Connor back to her room was something solid she could grab onto.

Dawn wasn’t naive enough to think that falling into bed with any guy (even a supernaturally strong, seriously hot one like Connor Rielly) was going to fix things, but it would definitely distract her from the turmoil and hopefully help her get some rest, and some semblance of control. Besides, she liked Connor, and she was pretty sure he liked her too, and she wasn’t looking forward to another night of tossing and turning, fighting not to think about incorporeal green blobs of light and a faceless blond woman chasing her through what she thought might be the maze from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Sam and Dean would be pissed, she was sure, but at this point, she really didn’t care. The whiskey would help, but a warm body with strong, capable hands would help more.

“Help me carry these chairs back?” she asked and Connor gave her a look, but proceeded to pick up the lawn chairs and carry them across the small lawn to Dawn’s door. He set them in the grass and Dawn used her key card to unlock the door. She pushed it open and looked back at him. “So… wanna come in for a bit?”

~*~

Connor watched Dawn walk across the hotel lawn and followed with the lawn chairs. He set them down as she was unlocking her door. He could see she was feeling her whiskey, could almost see the thoughts going through her head. They were written all over her face, in the way she was biting at her lower lip, her eyes flicking to him and then down at the ground, the way her hands weren’t quite steady and her voice trembled just a bit. He knew what she was trying to do and it was ridiculously tempting to let her. He couldn’t, though, not like this, while she was drunk. 

“So… wanna come in for a bit?”

Connor looked at her, leaning against the door frame, long dark hair hanging around her shoulders, in snug jeans, boots and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He could see the outline of the knife in her left boot, the way the gun tucked into the back of her jeans made the fabric fit just a little differently. She was beautiful, dangerous, strong… everything Connor could want in a woman. Everything the Destroyer wanted too. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t bring himself to walk away either. Even if the man could have done it, the Destroyer was at full attention and he wasn’t going to allow it. Connor followed her into the motel room and closed the door behind them.

She sat on the edge of the bed and unzipped her boots, removing the knife and setting it on the nightstand and Connor picked up the canister of salt from beside the TV, making a line in front of the door. He checked the salt line at the window, satisfied that it was unbroken and then he felt her standing behind him and turned.

Without her boots, she was a few inches shorter, the top of her head coming almost to his nose. She stepped close, looking up at him.

“Dawn, what are you doing?”

“I know there’s probably all kinds of smooth ways to do this, but honestly, I can’t think of any right now and I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” she said, quietly. She put her palms on his chest, slid them slowly up to his shoulders. “Will you kiss me, Connor? Please?”

“Dawn-”

“Please, Connor,” she repeated, and he heard the tremor in her voice. “I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing. Please, I just… I need to  _ feel _ , something that’s real, that’s mine.”

She was looking up at him, blue eyes wide, dark, drowning and Connor felt himself falling into them even as his mouth covered hers.

Dawn tasted like Jack Daniels and tears, and her arms slid around his neck, closing the distance between them until she was pressed against him, standing on her toes between his feet. Connor slid one hand into the silk of her hair, the other to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She whimpered against his mouth and pulled him toward the bed. He let her, never pulling back, never ending the kiss as they crossed the room and he turned them around, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She pulled back from the kiss long enough to straddle his lap, push him back.

Connor moved up on the bed, until he could lean back on the pillows and Dawn came with him, her fingers sliding under the edge of his t-shirt, pulling it up. He let her, helped her, pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it and then her hands were on his chest, sliding over his skin. She kissed him, bit at his lower lip and then grabbed the bottom of her own shirt, peeling it off and dropping it beside the bed, leaving her in a pale blue, lacy bra. Her arms twisted behind her, she unhooked the bra and slid it down her arms, leaving her bare from the waist up and he stopped for a moment just to stare at her.

Her skin was pale and perfect, breasts full and high, nipples dark and pebbled. Her waist was slender and he could see the play of muscle in her shoulders and arms. She was strong like a dancer, long muscles and grace and she leaned down, crushing those breasts against his bare chest and Connor heard a soft sigh, realized it was his own. He wrapped his arms around her, palms sliding up the smooth plane of her back. She was still straddling his hips, rocking against him, and his jeans were getting less comfortable by the second. 

Her mouth found his jaw, his neck, lower and Connor caught her hips in his hands, pulling her in tight to still her movements. 

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. She fought him for a moment and then stopped, pulling back and looking at him, her questions written in her eyes.

“We’re not doing this, Dawn, not tonight. Not like this,” he told her. She started to pull away and he stopped her.

“Let me go,” she said, bringing her arms up to cover her breasts. Connor sat up, catching her wrists in his hands.

“Dawn, stop.”

“No, you want to go, then leave,” she snapped. “Let go of me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Connor said and she went still.

“I don’t-”

“I said we’re not having sex tonight, I didn’t say I was leaving,” he said, letting go of her wrists and pushing her hair behind her ear with one hand. “I’m staying here with you, Dawn, unless you want me to go.”

She stared at him for a few moments, searching his face, his eyes for something before she spoke.

“Why?”

“Why, or why not?” he asked, sliding his arms around her and pulling her down to rest on his chest, stroking long lines up and down her back. 

“Both,” she answered.

“Because you aren’t doing this because you want me, not right now. Tonight, you’re looking for a distraction and I’m not going to let you do that, to either of us,” he told her. “And because you shouldn’t be alone tonight, and I want to be the one holding you.”

~*~

In the end, Dawn pulled a long t-shirt from her duffel and slipped it over her head. She took off her jeans and left them in a pile on the floor, and then climbed into bed. 

“Lose the jeans,” she’d told him and Connor took her at her word, getting into bed beside her in a pair of boxer briefs. He turned off the lamp beside the bed, and then gathered her into his arms, pulling her against him and she squirmed until she got comfortable, her head pillowed on his arm, face resting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. He was warm and the arms around her were strong, sure. She closed her eyes, feeling her body relax into him and she felt him press a kiss against her hair before he spoke.

“When we do this, Dawn…  _ When _ , not if, you’re going to be stone sober. I want you to be completely with me for every second and I don’t plan to be in a hurry.”

His voice was soft, but firm and in the dark, Dawn smiled, closing her eyes. She relaxed into the warmth of his body, secure in the knowledge that she wasn’t alone, and that if the nightmares came, the Destroyer was there to chase them away.

~*~

“You know that Connor went back to Dawn’s room with her, right?” Faith asked, tracing circles with one fingertip on Dean’s bare chest. This cuddling after sex thing was new for her, but she was getting used to it, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, reveling in the way her muscles felt, loose and liquid, now that she wasn’t jumping up and pulling on her clothes to leave after a quick roll in the sheets. 

Dean groaned at her words.

“Why you gotta?” he grumbled. “I mean, yeah, I’ve seen it coming, but dammit, can’t you just let me be ignorant for a little while?”

“Sorry, lover, but little sis is bunking down with a guy and I’m not sure if it’s Connor or the Destroyer in there with her at this point.”

“Is there a difference?” Dean asked, looking down at her. The nightlight in the bathroom provided a dim glow through the open door and she could see his eyes glinting in the low light.

“Hell yes, there’s a difference,” Faith said, seriously. “Connor is just your average kid, little bit stronger, faster, more athletic, but still human. The Destroyer is basically… well, think of him like a Slayer, only more primal. He’s got the strength, reflexes and senses of a vampire, with none of their weaknesses and he was raised in a Hell dimension by a demon hunter so ruthless that he makes your dad look like Mr. Rogers. They’re two different guys, believe me.”

“Is Dawn in trouble?” Dean asked, seriously.

“I don’t think so, honestly,” Faith admitted. “I’ve seen both Connor and the Destroyer over the last few days and both of them seem to be on the same page about Dawn. They are different, separate, but it seems like he’s trying to blend them into one… the Destroyer, but human enough to pass for normal, someone who doesn’t trigger people’s prey responses just be looking at them.”

“You’re kinda freaking me out,” he told her and Faith chuckled.

“It’s okay, Dean, she’s safe, maybe safer than ever, with him watching her back. I just want to make sure that you know, that you don’t forget he’s not just a college guy.”

“Good,” he said, after a long silence. “I’m kinda starting to like the kid. Hate to have to kill him.”


End file.
